#anyways it's been a while since i made a god hearty tags post. this is a time honored tradition and i gotta do my part

[lindensea]

🌜

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[kaz3313]

Meeting with the Opposition

Chapter Two; Chapter One is below (previous link wasn't working) Chapter 3 is in the makings

@artthingymabob is who inspired me!

@dystopianinterstellar @azirafuck (also ask if youd like to be on the tag list!)

I honestly thought this would be a one off thing but oopsie daisy I got inspiration big time! Hope everyone enjoys 😊 Reblogs super appreciated

[[MORE]]

  Azriphale doesn't mean to be late yet here he is running through a crowded sidewalk people giving him nasty sideways glances. He isn't technically late but he isn't early; everyone in Heaven is slightly early as the term "fashionably late" was made by a demon and no angel wants to be associated with one of those. Well besides two; one of which is dubbed a traitor and the other is desperately weaving through crowds and could be considered a hypocrite if anyone is to find out why.

  The reason he is running late is because of Heaven; an angel gone off the deep end. They created quite a ruckus- shouting threats at everyone, causing damage to walls, and pulling up several plants from a garden. It was a fit not tolerated in Heaven and so it ended with them being locked in a room until further notice. He being the one to find an unoccupied room as well as having to catch them. Aziraphale is almost positive they'd have to put them through a trial (and he'd have to organize it) but when is still in the unforeseeable future. Even if he does calm down in that time period they is no possible way of getting out of a punishment.

   The angel arrives just on time but his face falls at the sight of the demon, Crowely, has already nabbed a table. An odd feeling, that isn't embarrassing, arises in him at the thought of the demon sitting at the table, awaiting his arrival. An odd tingly half familiar feeling he shoves down while approaching the demon in wait.

   "I would usually apologize for being late but l, since you are a demon and I don't dare say sorry to your kind, I won't," Azriphale states sitting down not daring to make eye contact with the other.

   "You aren't late, really you're perfectly on time. But our kind don't take well to apologies anyhow; anyone who tries we throw into the hell hound pit and bet on how long they will last," Crowely says and Azriphale looks up; the most horrific look plastered on his face. "I'm joking! I'm joking! Thought a being from Heaven could take a joke!" He lets out a hearty chuckle and Azriphale gives a forced smile in return.

  Crowely is only half-way being truthful in this, as he is with most things, as demons tend to throw each other in hell hound cages all the time. The difference being from what he said is that apologies don't cause such a reaction; it really is just a sporadic action done whenever something mildly inconvenient but thoroughly irritating happens. He doesn't explain the logistics though as he can clearly see the angel is troubled.

   Why he cares is a completely different story that Crowley will rather not want to think about. If he did try to explain though the conversation that followed would contain lots of half truths, hissing, stuttering, made up words (which if you mention that they are made up he will snarkily reply with "well all languages are made up) and end with someone getting stabbed in a major artery. So it's best to leave him be with his unusual consideration.

  "I suppose we should get right on to business since the jokes have ceased?" 'And proven to be unfunny' but Azriphale only adds that on in silence. He doesn't want to push any buttons he doesn't have to today.

  "Thinking 'bout ordering drinks first; Hell has been a bitch like usual and I've needed something to take my mind off it. So drinks first, work talk after," 

  "Drinks don't sound half bad," He momentarily massages his temples before picking up the drink menu "With no war I'm assuming Hell's been rowdy?"

  "Rowdy is a group of bratty teens whose equally bratty parents are going out for a month. Hell is a barnyard that has no food,drink, or cages and several exotic animals. Everyone is ravenous. Demons are thirsting for bloodshed so much we've had to bust several groups trying to form secret strikes to Heaven that would not only fail miserably but be embarrassing to see play out. One guy thought he could do a solo mission- and I have little respect for your army but I'm also not stupid and would send a single low ranking demon against God's army," Crowley rants and if not for the waitress' arrival he would've gone on a tangent. He orders the drinks flatly and expects Azriphale to follow suit immediately.

  The angel however is smiling at him which led to a flick of rage ignite. What had he to smile about? That hell was hellish and chaotic? He should know that just because everything is a shit-show they were not to be reckoned with. 

  "Same wine as his, dear," Azriphale addresses to the waitress and she smiles politely before heading back to the kitchen. "I find it amusing; the angels above are getting antsy themselves. Today actually one of them was found flinging a sword around wildly yelling about how they would deliver "divine justice" to anyone in their path. Of course angels aren't as cruel as demons but...the war not happening has thrown everyone off course. Even the most mild mannered".

  That's why he was smiling- a light weight lifts off Crowley's shoulders. "This is exactly why the two traitors need to be dealt with soon- I feel it would bring ease to everyone. Including, the eventual, second Armageddon," The waitress returns a smile of ignorance on her face. She didn't understand how weeks ago she should've perished nor does she know what these "fine" gentlemen are discussing. All she knows is what wine and food they order and all she hopes is that they give her a significant tip.

  "No doubt; those trouble makers will be given proper justice," Azriphale says picking up his glass of Chardonnay.

  "And no mercy," Crowely adds on, raising his own glass "Toast for the second Armageddon that-is-hopefully-soon-to-come, Angel?"

   "To a successful second apocalypse!" The two clink glasses both wearing uncharacteristic smiles and having found a new sense of determination.

  "Ssso you're ssaying?" Crowely slurs out, its blurred whether alcohol or his snake side were responsible for his long s'. Many drinks are shared between the two and many more were to come. Business is attempting to be addressed but as neither has the gull, or maybe the relaxation is a tad addictive, to sober up halfway thought up plans were being discovered.

   "I say that- well I think anyway. Why not just, we'll just watch the two! Eventually they'll bl-blab out something of importance! How they- how they gone- they gone to go be naive,"

 "Native, you ssstupid Angel,"

   "Oh, same difference! It doesn't matter exact terminology. All that matters is...well is the- the plan," Azriphale waves his hands around before returning to his empty glass. Instead of flagging down the waitress, they had the poor girl running back and forth like mad, he flicks his fingers and both glasses fill up. Crowley opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and sips the wine. "Whether its the Great Plan or Ineffable Plan or might as well be Plan B, I really don't care. We just need a plan,"

   "We have our plan," Crowley says with a slight huff.

   "Our plan?" The words our, referring to him and Crowely feel so foreign, scandalous even, but fit on his tongue like a well tailored outfit.

  "Yeah- Watch Gabriel and Beelzebub until they fuck up again. Y'know feel too safe let some information slip. Maybe we'll learn a weakness or two-whatever. And once we know all the right sstuff we crush them!" Crowley slams his fist on the table to reiterate his point.

  "Our plan," Azriphale still echoes quietly as if it is a secret to keep. Which in a way it is; if the other Archangels knew what he's up too, even under the sake of serving retribution, he could get in big trouble. Consorting with Demons led to well... he looks up at Crowley whom he's had two meetings with so far and more to come...apparently it led to professionals getting involved to track you down to find your weaknesses.

  Sure maybe the other Angels wouldn't understand and take what he's doing a completely wrong way but he is doing what is good! Surely if he wasn't God would punish him, right?

  "I'd say let's get dessssert before we head out our separate ways, eh?" Crowely says bringing the fretting Angel out of his worries (or at least creating a temporary distraction from them).

  "Dessert sounds lovely. I heard the creme brulee is to die for,".

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (3/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~6.6K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

A/N: I ended up switching days to post my third @csmarchmadness, so here’s Chapter 3, a day earlier than expected! Thanks, as always, to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing the even and @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, as well as the discord ladies for helping me figure out where parts of this section were going. 

Thanks for all your wonderful feedback so far - I’m so glad you’re liking where I’ve taken this! I’ll have Chapter 4 up as soon as I can - it’s about half written now, so hopefully I can buckle down on the rest. Brace yourselves for the angst, guys. 

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

As far as rude awakenings go, the entire house shaking has to top the list.

While half asleep, Killian had been happy to write it off as Emma tossing around in bed, as she’s prone to do (his favorite little bed hog), but as the shaking continues, shaking him fully out of slumber and straight into panic instead, it becomes obvious that something is happening. Something dire, something unusual even for the Underworld. It makes him sit bolt upright in bed, alert and trying to safely discern what the hell is going on as Emma grumbles incoherently at the sudden removal of her human pillow.

“Wake up, love,” he says urgently. When she just groans, not willing to rouse herself from her hazy dreamland, Killian resorts to shaking her. “Emma, love, you’ve got to wake up, something’s the matter.”

Just then, the shaking abruptly stops. Emma blearily blinks up at at him, blessedly awake. “Was something… shaking?” She asks groggily.

“Aye. I don’t know what,” he replies, quickly getting out of bed and moving to retrieve his trousers and shirt. Unlike certain blondes in his life, he’s always careful to fold his laundry and either put it away or into the dirty clothes basket instead of tossing them into corners willy-nilly.

“Well we’ve got to go find out!” Emma shoots right back, tossing the covers back and swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

“Aye. I’d think it was an earthquake, but down here —” Killian’s train of thought is abruptly cut off as he hears a soft oof from Emma, followed by an alarming screech of bedsprings. When he whips back around from where he had been facing away from the bed, Emma is sitting wide-eyed, both hands gripping at the edge of the mattress.

Killian’s certain he’s never moved faster, crouching down in front of Emma in a flash and reaching for her hand. “Are you alright, Emma? Love, talk to me. Are you okay, is the baby okay?”

“Calm down, Captain. Everything’s fine, I just stood up too fast, blood rush or whatever.” Patting his hand briefly, she stands back up again, this time without any problems, and moves to collect her own jeans and sweater.

Emma may not seem too concerned, but the incident - small as it is - really throws things into harsh perspective. He’s already been wrestling with guilt over the fact that Emma’s here, in danger, in the first place - not to mention Henry and their unborn child - but this really reminds him of all the other, more mundane dangers facing them. Emma’s a woman of action; he’s always known that, it was one of the many myriad of things that made him fall in love with her in the first place. But that same impulsiveness, that same urge to help that drives her to action, puts her in a lot of dangerous situations - not just crazy things like this, things that would only happen to the Savior, but everyday dangers too. Her job as Sheriff doesn’t help; Storybrooke is a quiet town, but even quiet towns can host robberies gone wrong or domestic disputes or any number of other circumstances that might prove dangerous, or even deadly, to a bold sheriff too concerned with saving others to worry enough about herself.

“Maybe you should let us investigate this one, love,” he hazards cautiously. This will almost certainly come back to bite him, but he feels he can’t go without saying something. She already can only use her magic sparingly, and guns and swords won’t do much against the already deceased. Standing by while she charges into danger just feels like he’s playing a part in whatever harm might come to them.

Emma looks over at him as she pulls her jeans on, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in disapproval before turning back to button her pants. Their little one protrudes just enough that she’s had to rig up a new closure system with a hair binder, something Killian usually finds adorable, but today just reminds him of how much is at stake. “I’m fine, Killian,” she sighs, exasperation tinging her tone. “I’m not about to break.”

“I know you’re strong and hearty, love, but we don’t know what we’re facing out there. And there’s the babe to think about now, too,” he presses.

“What, so I’m supposed to just sit around here, twiddling my thumbs while everyone else rushes off into God only knows what? I’m supposed to be here to save you! I can’t do that just sitting on my ass!”

“I can’t let you do that though at the cost of your own life! I’m already dead, Emma - what the hell else can happen to me?”

Killian regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Still, seeing the tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes is like a stab through his heart. He hopes they’re a product of her fluctuating hormones, but he’s afraid they’re not; that feels like denying responsibility anyways, and those tears are certainly his fault.

“Emma, love…” he tries again, reaching for her, but she just shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving Killian all alone. With a sigh, he turns to finish securing his brace and shrugging on a shirt.

Give them both a moment to calm down; then he’ll turn his attention to fixing the mess he’s made.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, Regina already waiting in their living room when Killian finally makes it down the stairs. He wants to go straight to Emma, to try and make up (or, ideally, come to some kind of compromise that keeps her safe but still involved) and put this whole thing behind them, but they can’t do that with Regina standing right there.

“Madame Mayor,” he nods. Things have never been exactly natural between himself and the former Evil Queen; it’s easiest to fall back on practiced formalities. Still, that won’t stop him from asking why she’s here. It is still his own house, after all, and a man is entitled to such things. “May I ask what you’re doing here, Your Majesty? Or how, for that matter, since I didn’t hear the front door or doorbell?”

Regina sniffs in mild disdain at the questioning; he probably shouldn’t have expected any less. “Unlike your girlfriend here,” she emphasizes, “there’s nothing wrong with my magic.” At Killian’s blank stare - more unamused than confused, in truth - she elaborates. “I transported myself over into your living room. You felt the disturbance I assume, unless you’re even more oblivious than I gave you credit for?” Ignoring the jibe, Killian nods curtly. “Well, my sister dearest managed to get herself pulled into a portal. With the baby at that.”

“Are they both alright?” Emma asks, blessedly keeping the focus on the problem at hand before the Queen goes off on a rant about her sister (deserved or not).

“Zelena twisted her ankle upon landing, but Vera’s fine.” It’s obvious from Regina’s tone which person’s wellbeing she finds important. “Hades had some underling waiting, but Greenie was able to scare him off with her magic. As far as anyone can tell, he wanted the baby for some purpose, and Zelena was just collateral damage.”

“Robin must be relieved that the little one is alright,” Killian comments. What was the baby’s name? Vera? Soon enough, he and Emma will have to be picking out names for their own babe, if they can just both make it out of the Underworld in one piece.

“He is. We both are,” Regina agrees, a smile almost teasing at the edges of her mouth before she snaps back to her businesslike facade again. “Zelena thinks she might know something, however, and I’d really like to get home and away from the miserable bitch as soon as possible, so if you’re done with the small talk…” she trails off, fixing both Killian and Emma in turn with an expectant look.

Killian jumps to retrieve Emma’s heavy coat and his own leather jacket. They may not have a chance to talk for a while, not with the rush of everything happening, but maybe he can show his love, his care, his apology in smaller ways. She meets his eyes briefly as he opens the coat wide to slip her arms into, and he tries to put all the words he can’t yet say into a small smile; part apology, part reassurance, all love. Emma just looks away, though, reaching for her hat and gloves instead.

Not a good sign.

“I can only take you one at a time,” Regina warns brusquely, “so you’re going to have to wait a moment, Captain.”

“That’s fine,” he assures. “I should collect my brother anyways.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, after his little disappearing act the other day?” Regina demands. She’s always cut straight to the point, and Killian usually appreciates that - hell, would admire it in anyone else - but he finds himself wishing she would perhaps mince her words just a bit. There’s something to be said for tact in small doses. It also reminds him that while the group at large knows that something happened yesterday for both he and Liam to suddenly disappear for hours on end, they don’t know all the detail of Liam’s betrayal.

“No, but for better or worse, I’m hoping he’ll have insights that will be of use to us.” Killian keeps things as vague as possible, but Regina looks like she suspects something’s up all the same. Not that it’s not warranted. The first order of business today will have to be making Liam confess to everyone. It’s as good a penance as any; Killian certainly wouldn’t want to face an angry Regina, let alone the Lady Snow. As much as he’s looking forward to his brother being interrogated by the Evil Queen, however, he’s not keen on receiving the same treatment himself. It’ll be a miracle if he can get out of the house without her demanding any more answers. “I’ll meet you at the Mayor’s Mansion as soon as I can,” he excuses, moving to leave. Things are still unsettled between himself and Emma, but it feels wrong to just leave without any gesture towards her, so he quickly drops a kiss on her cheek on his way to the door, letting their fingers brush in passing. She doesn’t say anything, or move to make it a real kiss, but she doesn’t pull away from him either, which Killian is willing to take as a small success.

Getting better.

It’s only a short walk from the house to the harbor, where Liam is already up and about on the Jolly Roger. “Brother!” he calls. “Did you feel the quaking?”

A burst of irritation fizzles through Killian’s veins. What does Liam think he is, some kind of imbecile? Brother knows best. It makes him wonder if his brother was always like this, and Killian was just too blinded by devotion to see it.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” he grinds out. “Gather whatever you need, we’re expected back at the Mayor’s Mansion.”

“I take it you’re still mad at me,” Liam comments on his way down the gangplank.

“Aye, well, it’s not exactly something you get over in only one night,” Killian snipes back.

“Killian, please —”

“No, this is what’s going to happen,” Killian interrupts. “We’re going to go and face Emma’s family - my family and friends, and explain exactly what you did, what you told Hades, what was on those pages. You are going to do everything you can to help us. And it still won’t fully make up for what you tried to do to me, what you tried to take from me, but it will at least be a start, and we can evaluate from there. Understood?”

“Aye, Brother, but what do you think this —”

“Further discussion will not be necessary.”

The rest of their walk is pretty quiet after that.

To his credit, Liam does confess to the group at large without any extra prodding. Reactions are almost exactly what Killian would have expected: Henry is furious at the betrayal, Belle is shocked, Snow seems to be hovering somewhere around maternal disappointment, and Regina rolls her eyes.

“Can you at least tell us what was on the pages?” she sighs, her voice sounding absolutely exhausted for this early in the day. That’s a feat, Killian can’t help but think as he watches the haughty mayor rub at her temples as if to make a headache go away.

“I wasn’t exactly looking too closely at their contents,” Liam admits with a wince. “All I can tell you is that illustration depicted some sort of rock, or gemstone.”

“It’s a crystal,” Zelena’s voice calls from the doorway, where she’d apparently limped over. “The Olympian Crystal.” Killian hadn’t seen her when he came in; he assumes they got the inevitable sniping out of the way before Killian arrived back at the Mayor’s Mansion with Liam. Not that he regrets missing it; even if he wasn’t already predisposed to dislike the Wicked Witch, especially after the incidents of the Second Curse - he’s not likely to soon forget her attempt to manipulate and drown him, thank you very much - her particular brand of constant drama isn’t to Killian’s taste. In his opinion, it’s never a good sign when he, the man who devoted centuries of his life to the pursuit of revenge, thinks you’ve gone a little too far.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Robin bites back. It’s harsher than Killian is used to from the easy-going bandit, but after everything Zelena has done to him, Killian supposes that’s warranted.

“Hades and I have clashed before. And unlike some of us here,” she says pointedly, “I’m willing to dig up a little research about my enemies so I can attack them head-on, instead of rushing in with some half-cocked plan.” There’s no telling who that was aimed at; probably Regina, but it could frankly apply to half the people in the room.

“Yes, you’re a champion researcher, we bow to you in awe,” Regina drawls sarcastically. “Do you want to tell the rest of the class about this ‘Olympic Crystal’, or do you just want to brag?”

“It’s the Olympian Crystal, since you obviously weren’t listening,” Zelena snaps back. Ah, siblings. “Supposedly, it’s a divine weapon that can be used to defeat Hades.”

“And you never used it? What a go-getter you are, sis.”

“He never came back after that frankly bizarre attempt to snatch Oz from under my nose, and unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to go actively looking for trouble! I never needed to use it!”

“Well maybe if you had we wouldn’t —”

“Alright,” David interrupts, blessedly so in Killian’s opinion. “Do you know where we can find this… Crystal?”

“No, Blondie,” Zelena sneers. “Like I said: I never needed to.”

That sits with all of them for a moment. This had seemed like such a good lead, but there’s nowhere to take it. Maybe the Crystal wouldn’t bring Killian back to life, but it could take Hades out of the picture, remove a major hurdle to their quest. But without any idea of where to find it, they’re just stuck.

“We could talk to the Apprentice,” Henry suggests suddenly. “I mean, he’s got to be down here, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Regina comments, the pride and surprise warring in her voice.

“Well done, lad,” Killian murmurs, nudging Henry affectionately.

“Okay, so we go see the Apprentice,” David says, no small amount of impatience tinging his tone and no doubt fueling his decisiveness on the matter.

“You can do that. I’ll start here with the baby, I couldn’t possibly walk on my ankle,” Zelena sniffs. With that, the room dissolves into a chaos of Robin and Regina protesting and insisting she can’t be left alone with Vera, as David starts just as loudly insisting that they need to leave right now, they can’t afford to waste time.

In the midst of all that, Killian takes the opportunity to tug on Emma’s sleeve. “Can we talk for a moment, love?”

She nods and follows him readily to an unused office, but still doesn’t say anything, instead crossing her arms over her chest and shifting from foot to foot. She looks nervous about this conversation, he realizes, and that helps a little bit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, diving right in. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were putting the baby in danger.”

“I know,” she replies quietly, still shuffling her feet. “My emotions are running so high right now, and I just…” she pauses, apparently collecting herself. “I just want to go home. With you. As soon as we can.”

“I know, love, I do too. I’m just horribly afraid that it’ll be at some awful cost. You’re already trapped here by that headstone. I’m thankful for everything you’re doing to save me, but I’m terrified it’ll be at the cost of someone else’s life - your own, or the Bean’s, or anyone else’s. Especially our child. You and I…” he pauses, organizing his thoughts. “You and I, we didn’t have happy childhoods. We didn’t even have safe childhoods, and I’ve always known that if I was lucky enough to have a child, I’d do my damndest to protect them for anything that might hurt them. The little one isn’t even here, and I already feel like I’ve failed at keeping them safe. What kind of parent does that?” he begs.

“It’s not your fault, Killian,” Emma assures him, stepping forward to cup his cheek in her hand. “You’re doing your best, and the fact that you’re trying is what’s going to make you a great dad.”

Killian smiles weakly back at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he assures Emma. “It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. But with everything that’s going on, I just…” Worry. Overreact. Wonder if I’m really worth it all.

“I know,” Emma says, and he really thinks she might. She’s always been able to see right through him, after all. “There’s going to come a time where I need to do that, take a backseat, and I’ll let you fuss over me all you want then. But for now…”

“For now, you’ve got it,” Killian finishes. He’ll still worry, of course, still try to protect her when they’re out in the field, fighting the forces of evil, but how is that different from before, really? He’s been by her side since Neverland, trying to keep her safe and happy. Now there’s just a little someone else to watch over as well. “I love you,” he says, making sure to look her in the eyes and attempt to impart exactly how much he means the words.

“I love you too,” Emma smiles back, pressing up for a kiss. Killian’s hand drops to her waist out of habit, allowing his thumb to brush over her growing stomach. “Now, you ready to go see a magician about a crystal?”

“Aye, love. Lead the way.”

———

The Apprentice lives in the same little cottage that he did in the living world, though his window boxes and garden beds are sadly empty. This place isn’t conducive to any form of life, even that of a more botanical bent. In truth, Killian dreads this visit due to all the messy history between himself and the mystical old man. The Apprentice may have seemed to forgive Killian before his untimely death at the hands of the Darkness, despite everything he had done, but Killian isn’t sure he’s forgiven himself. No matter how many times Emma and Henry tell him that he can’t be held responsible for trapping the fairies and the Apprentice in the hat, no matter the fact that he knows Gold was pulling the strings that whole episode, Killian still feels guilty. Even if he wasn’t in control of himself at the time, he was the one that sucked everyone into some unspeakable in-between world, that had to listen to their screams and watch them fight against the portal’s winds. It was a terrible reminder of all the darkness he’s capable of and had succumbed to in the past. Facing the Apprentice is a terrible reminder of all that.

He doesn’t offer any judgement as he opens the door, though, doesn’t slam it in Killian’s face (as would be well deserved) or even demand to know why they’re here. Instead, he just nods knowingly before opening the door wider to let everyone through.

“You’re here about the Olympian Crystal,” the Apprentice says as they file past into his little parlor. It’s a statement, a fact, not a question. He knows this, and is just waiting for everyone else to realize it.

“Yes, actually,” Killian replies. A not-insignificant part of himself wants to know how exactly the Apprentice knew what they were here for, but it seems rude somehow to ask. Looking through their little crowd, his companions seem to be wondering the same thing, if their confused expressions are anything to go by - Regina being the obvious exception, far too regal and refined for such emotional transparency. The man is a powerful magician; who are they to demand an explanation for his methods?

Thankfully, the old man seems to sense their puzzlement. “My master’s book of prophecies has foretold many things, both in life and now in death,” he explains. Ah, yes, Merlin. Killian had been impressed, if somewhat intimidated, by the man’s powers of foresight in Camelot; with so many centuries on his hands, it makes a certain amount of sense that he put some of his visions down to paper for his Apprentice’s reference. “Please, sit,” he offers, sweeping an arm towards the old fashioned upholstered chairs. “I assume you have many questions.”

“Yes, actually,” Snow replies, apparently taking the lead in this conversation. That might be for the best, actually; she has more tact than any of the rest of them. “What exactly is this Crystal? We’ve only just learned of the existence of the myths surrounding it.”

“And what did those legends say?”

“That it has the power to defeat Hades,” Emma replies, cutting to the point. Never one to mince words, his love. “And it’s a real thing? Not just a story?”

“It’s a real thing,” the Apprentice confirms, “one of Zeus’ thunderbolts made into solid form. Its efficacy against a god has never been tested, and so is yet to be seen, but I can tell you this for certain: it’s a powerful tool with the power of life and death.”

“Does that mean we could use it to help Killian?” Henry asks eagerly. Killian and Emma both lean forward in anticipation of the answer, as if the closer proximity will give them better - or at least faster - news. Could this be it, the solution to their problem?

“In the right hands, yes,” the Apprentice agrees. Even that conditional agreement makes Killian’s heart race with hope. “It is beyond my knowledge how to use it, however. I assume that it’s a conduit of some kind - a tool to amplify magic, a divine wand.”

“We can work with that,” David nods, his face set in determination. This must have been how he looked back in the Enchanted Forest as the consort of a bandit princess - a solid born leader. “Emma’s the Savior - if any magic could activate the powers of the Crystal, it’d be hers.”

“And do you know where it is?” Emma asks, steering the conversation back on topic.

“The book says that when it fell from Olympus, it landed in the River of Lost Souls. Unfortunately, it was less illustrative as to the specifics of where in the River.”

“And I suppose that’s the toxic river we already had to deal with to rescue Hook in the first place,” Regina deadpans, eliciting a nod of confirmation from the Apprentice. “Excellent.”

“Yeah but if this is the thing that can bring Killian back with us —” Emma starts to argue, before Regina cuts her off.

“Yes, that’s fine, don’t jump down my throat. I’m not suggesting we don’t pursue this, I’m just saying that it’s going to be difficult. Remember the part where the waters basically steal your soul and wipe your memories?”

“I don’t suppose you have a solution for that?” Killian asks the Apprentice, quickly redirecting before Emma and Regina can snipe at each other any more.

The other man just shakes his head in the negative though, sending a chill through Killian’s lifeless veins. “So what, that’s a one-way trip for someone?”

“Perhaps the Crystal can undo the River’s damage, but that’s never been tested, of course,” the old man explains.

“And there’s no other way?” Belle asks.

“There’s tales of an ambrosia bush, but it’s been lost for centuries. Even Merlin’s records don’t offer any clue to its whereabouts.”

“And I can’t just… write it into existence?” Henry cuts in.

“That’s beyond the abilities of the Author. Your job is merely to record. Argue all you like,” he tells the collected group, “but this is the best way as things currently stand.”

“Yes, but it’s not actually a viable option, you see, because we’re not sacrificing anyone,” Killian explains, his patience officially having run out. “We’ll just have to find this ambrosia bush, then, because —”

“I’ll do it.”

All heads snap towards Liam at the sound of his voice. Surely he didn’t just say what Killian thinks he said? As they stare at him in shock, however, he repeats the words with even more firmness and determination. “I’ll do it. I’ll retrieve the Crystal.”

“Liam, you can’t —” Killian tries to protest, but it gets him nowhere.

“I’m the expendable one here, Brother,” he reminds Killian. “You and I are the only ones not living, and we’ve got to get you home. It has to be me.” More quietly, he adds a private plea for Killian’s ears only. “Let me do this, Killian. Let me make up for the hurt I’ve caused.”

“I can’t let you do it this way,” Killian insists. Of course he’s been furious with Liam, and still is in many ways, but this? This is going too far. This could turn Liam into a shade of himself if it fails.

“You have to, Killian. It’s the only way. Though I wouldn’t say no if your lady love were to cast some sort of protection spell,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten to mood. It doesn’t work, not in the least.

“He’s right,” Regina says. “We’ll try the protection spell, but as much as I hate to admit it, Captain Jones is right. He’s the one we can spare.”

(Killian especially hates hearing it from Regina, and especially like that - like his brother is just some tool to be used and disposed of.)

As much as Killian’s heart screams in protest at the thought of his brother sacrificing himself to possibly become nothing more than an empty shell, another permanent farewell, his head knows they’re right. It’s the only way, and if Killian wants to return to his future in the living world, he’s going to have to accept that sacrifice.

“It’s the only way,” he echoes softly, nodding in resignation.

He may be mad at his brother, but he never wanted this.

———

The cave system beneath the Underworld through which the River of Lost Souls flows is cold and damp, fostering a foreboding air as the chill sinks into all their bones. The otherworldly green glow of the River’s waters doesn’t help matters either, making the whole thing feel even more nightmarish in an already unworldly place. Curiously, it reminds Killian of the catacombs he once saw in a far off land, so long ago that he can’t remember the name anymore. The glimpse of metal structuring or the stone ledges carefully carved out of the rock is a bare reminder of human presence in this empty space - that this is somehow a place built by people, but not truly intended for them. The only word for it, truly, is eerie.

It takes less time to find the Crystal than expected - only a day and a half of searching - but they seem to simultaneously pass in a blink and stretch on forever. They’d divided into small groups to punt up and down the waterways - Killian, Emma, and her parents in one boat with Regina, Robin, and Liam in the other. There’d been some debate about the divide - David in particular had wanted to be in the other boat, seemingly wanting to keep a closer eye on Liam. That’s reasonable, Killian supposes, after everything that had been revealed earlier that day. It takes a good deal of scolding from both Emma and Snow to convince him to climb into their skiff, all capped off by a very charming “You’re being ridiculous, Dad, get over here before you piss Mom off even more. You’re coming with us.”

(Whatever works, right?)

Still, the squabbling is a waste of time. One thing they can all agree upon, however, is to keep Henry as far away from the search as possible. No one knows exactly what those waters would do to a living being, and they don’t care to find out - especially not with Henry. No one wants him anywhere near that water. Instead, he’s persuaded to stay up above with Belle, doing research about how to use this Crystal once they find it. Henry’s not happy about it, but he agrees eventually - especially when it becomes obvious that no one is caving. Ultimately, Killian thinks the only reason Henry goes without anymore fuss is that he’s tasked with the responsibility of watching over Belle and the baby, and especially of ensuring that Zelena doesn’t try to stage a kidnapping in Robin and Regina’s absence or otherwise betray them. Whatever it takes, Killian tells himself, and at least this lets the lad feel helpful. They’re not all disconnected from each other anyways - Regina rigs up a system of handheld mirrors to talk to each other in case problems arise or one of the parties actually finds the Crystal.

It’s Regina’s party that ultimately locates the bloody thing, somehow glowing even brighter underneath the murky green of the River of Souls. Ultimately, they decide to wait until the next morning to attempt to retrieve the Crystal itself, due both to time and the need to form a more concrete plan, and instead head home to rest. There’s a lot of discussion that night, none of which Killian particularly likes - especially since it relies on Emma casting a protection spell over Liam.

“That’s not my expertise,” Regina sniffs when Killian suggests she do it herself.  “Savior magic would be much more effective in this circumstance.”

Savior magic or not, though, the fact remains that magic has exhausted Emma since she became pregnant. There’s no hospital down here to go to if she passes out again, and Killian is terrified of something happening.

“It’ll be fine,” Emma tries to reassure him quietly, squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “It’ll just be a moment and then you can make me rest.”

Under other circumstances, maybe Killian would try to argue or find another way, but the fact of the matter is that they’ve been backed into a corner. This is the only plan they have to rescue him from the Underworld, and the only way they can both retrieve the Crystal and offer Liam some marginal protection from the danger of the green waters is to draw upon Emma’s powers. There’s no other way. When Emma insists that she can do it, too, there’s even less point in trying to argue. It’s just how things will have to be.

Killian sits up for a drink with Liam that night, the last before Gods only know what will happen. It’s impossible to find the right words to say, though: I wish things were different? I don’t know if I forgive you, but I want to try? Thank you for what you’re about to do? I never needed you to make up for your actions in this way? I’ve never needed a hero, just a brother? Ever since Liam’s betrayal, Killian has been a mess of emotions, and his brother’s volunteering to retrieve the Crystal, more than likely at his own peril, has only added more conflicting feelings to the mix. This is the brother he remembers from his youth - the born leader, the man who’d rather put himself in danger before anyone else, but it seems almost disingenuous. Too little, too late and all that.

Still, as Liam drops his head after dragging minutes of silence, rising to deposit his glass in the sink, Killian feels that rush of panic that this might be the last time. “Liam…” he starts, forcing himself to try one last time to say everything on his mind, maybe find some sort of closure with the brother he’s idolized more than anyone only for him to let Killianhim down more than anyone elseever has. It doesn’t work; the words don’t magically appear upon his tongue, and his words trail off into nothing.

Nevertheless, Liam smiles and drops his hand to pat Killian’s shoulder. “I know, Brother,” he assures. And maybe he does. Liam was always good at understanding the words unsaid, and something about his face says that he sees all the mess of love and hurt and anger and worry on Killian’s own visage.

It doesn’t make things any easier when the fateful moment comes and Liam stands at the edge of the stone landing, stripped out of his shoes and coat and tying the end of a rope around his waist. It had been decided that, should worst come to worst, they’d need a way to retrieve Liam, with or without the Crystal. It’s entirely possible that due to the water’s properties, he could reach the Crystal and just forget to swim back up. In fact, there’s so many ways that this could go wrong, but Killian is trying not to think of any of them. Trying.

(Failing. All his fault…)

A small blessing is that Emma had cast a protection spell around Liam without any problems. Killian had hovered anxiously at her side, just in case she’d become faint again, but it had been unnecessary. Put it down to a good breakfast or her previous abstinence from using magic. At Killian’s pestering, she’d admitted that her magic, that well of power within her she’s never been able to fully describe, feels depleted, but as close as he’s watching, it hasn’t seemed to exhaust her body and mind along with it.

“I’m fine,” she smiles, squeezing his forearm affectionately, and he doesn’t have any reason not to believe that. Before she can drop her hand back down to her side, Killian quickly catches it, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back as he turns towards his brother.

“You don’t have to do this,” Killian offers one last time as Liam eyes the glowing green waters and the Crystal sunken beneath them.

Liam exhales a breath before turning to face Killian. “You know I do.” The silence of so many words unsaid, so many things they could say and should say and need to say hangs heavy in the air. Everyone else has the tact to give them a little space. Liam breaks the oppressive stillness to pull Killian into an almost aggressive hug. “I love you, Brother,” he whispers fiercely.

And really, that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Beneath everything else Killian is feeling right now, he loves Liam. Always has, always will. That’s all that matters, especially now in what might be their last moments together is this goes poorly. “I love you too,” he whispers back into the flesh of Liam’s shoulder, the spot he always used to rest his head as a young lad, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

When they break apart, Liam nods briskly, his face settling again into an expression of determination as he turns towards the rest of their little group. “Are you ready with the rope?” he asks.

“Whenever you are, Captain,” Robin promises with his usual good humor.

“No sense in waiting, then,” Liam concludes. And with a final brave smile in Killian’s direction, he executes a neat dive into the River.

It feels like an eternity, watching Liam dive ever deeper towards the bottom of the riverbed. Killian feels like he’s holding his breath the entire while, disregarding the fact that he no longer has any breath to hold. It’s terrifying to watch. The Crystal doesn’t appear to be too far below the surface, but Liam keeps swimming and swimming and reaching and reaching and never quite getting there. All the while, they can see Emma’s protective spell spark and fizzle, visibly disintegrating under the erosion of the waters. Even as Killian thinks it, he spots pieces flaking off and floating to the surface even as Liam is still forced to keep going. It feels like watching his brother die right before his eyes again, and Killian can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

By some miracle, though, Liam keeps going. They all stand ready by the rope, ready to pull him back up, but his brother doesn’t show any signs of the confusion the River of Souls could visit upon him. Maybe this could work, maybe all hope isn’t lost —

And it isn’t. Liam grabs onto the Crystal and Killian lets out all that breath he’d been holding unnecessarily, slumping forward with relief. Below the surface, Liam kicks off from the bottom and swims for the surface, ascending at what seems a much quicker pace than his descent. That may just be an illusion though; Killian knows how time can drag when faced with that kind of dread.

Liam breaks the water’s surface with a grin, shaking his head and sending droplets flying. “It seems there might be some truth to the stories about this thing,” he declares. “It certainly healed me.”

Killian lurches forward to envelop his brother in a desperate hug as soon as Liam is back on dry land. He can’t even bring himself to be bothered by the way Liam is no doubt soaking his clothes, so great is his relief. “Thank the gods it did,” he mutters. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

“Of course I am, Brother,” Liam whispers back. “You thought I could leave you again?”

Killian holds tight for a moment longer before a pointed clearing of Regina’s throat breaks them apart. “Can we return to less humid ground now that we have the damn thing? Or are you two planning to stay down here for the foreseeable future?”

“After you, Your Majesty,” Killian gladly cedes. As they all settle back in the boats to make their way back towards the elevator and upper surface of the Underworld, Killian gladly pulls Emma into his side, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair and drawing comfort from her presence. Finally, finally there’s a glimmer of hope that they might actually be able to save him.

When the elevator doors open, however, it’s to reveal their worst case scenario: Hades himself standing between the doors and where Belle is trying to protect Henry with her very body.

“So good of you to show up!” the god oozes. “Have I got a proposition for you!”

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

La Douleur Exquise - Jungkook One Shot

La Douleur Exquise

noun

1. The pain of loving someone that you know you can never have; by circumstance or subjective decision.

Requested: No!

Description: Loving someone is pretty incredible. The world seems rosier, more alive. Even unrequited love can be beautiful, as long as you don’t start wanting more. Y/N and Jungkook have been friends for as long as they could talk, but what happens when Y/N finally decides they’ve finally had enough of keeping their secret feelings secret?

Word Count: 9.4k

Pairing: Jungkook x gender neutral reader

Tags: College!Au, Non-Idol!Au, Unrequited love

Genre: Drama, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Some cursing, alcohol, lots of angst because I can’t help myself

A/N: Hi you guys! So I’ve decided that since I have loads of free time, I’m going to start posting short pieces between my scheduled postings of The Parting. This is just to give you guys a little taste of the sort of things I can write for you if you want to request anything! If so, please follow the request protocol found here. I’m currently working on the requests I’ve gotten so far, so don’t worry! For those of you who already requested, your stories should be out in the next few days!

“It’s okay,” you said, glancing at your empty hands with a soft, resigned smile. “You don’t have to love me back.”

It had been quite a while since you’d been on campus so late, used to studying either at home or at local coffee shops to stay awake. You almost felt like a kid again. As night encroached, the world had gone hazy with the pastel colors of sunset, lilac clouds turning indigo outside the window beside which you sat, staring down at the quad as the stray students wandered through the grass holding books or bags or lovers’ hands. The classroom was darkening rapidly into shades of blue and the only two souls left in the Humanities building were you and-

“Jungkook!” called a voice from the doorway, flooding yellow fluorescent light into the quiet room. You were wrong. Apparently, there were three souls left in the Humanities building.

You and Jungkook turned, the latter with shock etched into his soft features and brown eyes like saucers, to greet your classmate, sixth-year super-senior Jung Hoseok. He stood blocking the light from the hallway, casting an eerily long shadow across the floor that nearly touched you. You couldn’t help but feel like that shadow was a bad omen somehow…

Jungkook whipped his head back to you and blinked wordlessly, mouth agape. You could have figured as much. He wasn’t the best when it came to unplanned events, and you were certain that his best friend of two decades confessing wasn’t something he’d planned. Hoseok stood watching with crossed arms, brows raised in question.

“Hello? Earth to Jungkook?” he said, waving his arms wildly. “You going to the bus stop or not?”

Jungkook shook his head and held a finger up to silence your classmate. You thought he’d left with the rest of the project group an hour ago, but he’d stuck around doing who knows what. Despite yourself and despite the ache in your chest that you hoped would dissipate after your confession, you chuckled and nodded, hopping off the wide windowsill and clapping your hands. Had the air between you and Jungkook always been so awkward?

You stepped carefully around his stunned body, mindful not to allow your skin to touch, and cleared your throat. “I think he’s broken,” you said with a laugh. “But I’m going that way. Let’s go together.”

Jungkook shook his head and turned around to stare at the two of you, thoughts innumerable running through his mind. It was obvious to anyone looking. He was shell-shocked. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold on, too much is happening all at once,” he said, gripping the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb and squeezing his eyes shut. It was a good thing too, since you were pretty sure he hadn’t blinked once since you’d confessed.

You met his eyes with a patient smile and nodded. “It’s okay, Kook,” you said, your voice a soft breath in the stagnant air. “Don’t feel overwhelmed. If it helps, just forget I said anything at all.”

“Said what? What happened?” asked Hoseok, pointing between the two of you with narrowed eyes.

You laughed and hooked an elbow around his neck, roughing up his hair as you wheeled the two of you out into the hallway. “Nothing, idiot. Read the room a little,” you said in a terse whisper as the two of you rounded the corner, leaving Jungkook standing alone in the twilight-drenched classroom.

“How did it go?”

“Well, I’m here and not off on a date somewhere. How do you think it went?”

Your roommate, Jimin, sat upright on the leather sofa he’d insisted upon buying once he’d graduated and turned to you sharply as you sighed and set your keys on the kitchen table. You hadn’t looked at him as you’d entered the apartment and kicked off your shoes, but now that you caught sight of him your breath escaped in a laugh and you shook your head. With his hair restrained in a cotton headband, he stared at you with wide eyes and nothing else, a panda face in the place where his features used to be. He’d always enjoyed those campy face masks.

“Well what in the fresh hell are you laughing about if you just got rejected?” he asked, though his words were rigid as he hadn’t the usual range of motion in his lips.

You grabbed a can of beer from the fridge and turned back to him. What exactly could you say? You were so used to the sadness that it was no longer sad and had become funny? You’d expected it after such a lengthy unrequited love? You hadn’t even had the confidence to imagine a reality in which he would accept you? Instead of saying anything at all, you simply sighed and collapsed onto the couch beside your roommate, pulling your legs into a criss-cross and leaning back into the cushions.

“What are we watching?” you asked, pointing at the TV which he had paused upon your arrival.

Jimin cleared his throat and adjusted his sweatshirt, sitting straighter. “Hello Counselor,” he said stiffly. “This kid is so obsessed with his plushies that he takes them on vacation.”

You raised your brows and nodded. “Perfect,” you said, pushing the tab on your beer and taking a hearty swig. “I need to be reminded that there are people whose lives suck more than mine.”

He sighed and gave your head a soft push before pressing play. “Don’t be too down on yourself, alright? Jungkook was always an idiot. You could do better.”

You laughed. “You’re right. I’m not gonna lose sleep over an idiot anymore,” you said with a nod and another deep drink of beer. “You got another face mask?”

Jimin nodded and reached across the space between the couch and the coffee table for another one. “I bought an extra for you in case things didn’t go well.”

You laughed as you ripped open the packaging. You supposed things could be worse. Sure, you’d just confessed your feelings to your crush of ten years and received an icy reaction, but at least you still had your friends who cherished you.

And plenty of panda face masks.

God, you thought as you watched him walk into the classroom on Monday morning, is he trying to kill me? Jungkook had emerged from the hallway clad in the outfit you told him you liked best: the white shirt and ripped jeans. He stood in front of the class for a long moment, scanning the rows of desks with a copy of Wuthering Heights in his hand. He’d never wavered before in choosing a seat, always falling easily into the one beside you. Romantic Era Literature was the only class you two had together this semester. Jungkook was a photography major after all, so your courses had little overlap.

Today, however, he looked to be struggling. You sighed and rested your cheek in your hand, setting your eyes low as he finally, begrudgingly, approached and settled beside you. You noted his posture. Where once his shoulders slumped comfortably, now they were perfectly erect. Where once his limbs would be tangled over your desk without a thought, they were now kept neatly in his space. Although it hurt, part of you felt sickly relieved. Perhaps even vindicated.

Because after years of being painfully comfortable, he was finally seeing what it felt like to be so conscious of someone else that it bordered on hyperactive. Just like you had all along.

You glanced at him and offered a smile like always which he returned in a way that was…decidedly not like always. “Mornin’,” you said before resting your cheek on your desk and turning your face away from him.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Did you…have a good weekend?”

You nodded. “Fine.”

“That’s nice,” he said. “Um…about what you said on Friday-,”

You sat upright and placed a hand over his lips. Was it just you, or did his cheeks feel slightly hot against your fingers? “Don’t. I told you to pretend I never said anything, right?” you asked.

He raised his brows. “Do what now? You meant that?”

You nodded and ran a hand through your hair. “I confessed for myself anyway,” you said with a smile. “Just to know I’ve said it once.”

“You…you kept it in for a long time?” he asked, brows knit.

You turned to him, puzzled, and tilted your head to the side. “Kept what in?” you asked.

He blinked at you, warm chestnut eyes scanning your face for a long while. “You really want me to forget it?” he asked, and the way he spoke made your heart sink a little. God, did he sound hopeful.

You smiled. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Kook,” you said, giving his shoulder a pat before resting your head on your desk once again. “Now shut up. I’m trying to nap.”

For a moment there was silence. A profound, thoughtful, pensive silence that droned and sat tangible in the air. You allowed the silence to envelop you like a stiff cotton blanket, itchy and uncomfortable but warm nonetheless. Just as you became accustomed to it, the silence was broken with the bubbling, boisterous laugh of your first real love, Jeon Jungkook. Laughing. Your insides were flipped and your head felt like it was swinging on a pendulum, and he was laughing. You didn’t know what was so funny to him, but as you shut your eyes and settled against the cool surface of your desk, you couldn’t help but find relief in his laughter which continued for a while before petering out into silence once more.

The sun beat down on the top of your head, pounding down on the earth below like an endless heat lamp. You draped yourself over the side of the picnic table at which you sat, cone of ice cream melting in your hands. The humidity was kicking up, and you’d decided today was as good a day as any to head to the pop-up ice cream shop you’d gone to when you were younger. And, upon hearing this idea, Jungkook had conveniently invited himself along.

It had been a week since your failure of a confession, and if you were being honest you were pretty glad things had kind of…phased back to normal. It had taken no time flat for Jungkook to reassume his previous attitude towards you. And you, surprisingly, found it a bit easier to be around him now that you’d finally gotten your feelings off your chest. That sort of thing can really weigh a person down and you’d decided not to regret it.

You were always the decisive one between the two of you. Where Jungkook wavered and flipped between options for fear of making the wrong choice, you stomped fearlessly ahead and stayed your course no matter what. Perhaps that was why Jimin, who had watched you pine after Jungkook since he met you two during your first year of college, hadn’t fought you when you’d told him your plan. Of course, it was destined to fail. What else could have happened when Jungkook had not only shown no interest in you, but had even gone so far as to date a few people who were definitely not you? The relationships never lasted. You often felt guilty for that, wondering if his partners found you troublesome because of your closeness to the stupid boy.

You’d simply been fed up. Fed up with seeing his bright smile and knowing it wasn’t for you. Fed up with how he would run his long fingers through his silky hair and knowing you’d never be able to do it yourself. Fed up with the dumb way he always played around with you without even the slightest idea of how cruel it was. Picking you up like you weighed nothing at all and tossing you over his shoulder, letting you feel just how strong and broad his shoulders were, how toned his back was as your hands dusted across it. Grabbing your hands and swinging them with a charming, rosy pout when he wanted something. Splaying his legs across your lap or wrapping his arms around your waist while you played video games together. Like it was nothing to him.

Like you were nothing to him.

“It’s too hot,” he whined, voice lilting like a child.

You glanced at him and raised your ice cream to your lips. “It’s June, what did you expect?” you asked, growing comfortable beneath the shade of a large tree. Jungkook had elected to sit opposite you, leaving him to bake in the sun.

Well, you supposed things hadn’t completely returned to normal.

He no longer did those things so easily. In fact, it seemed as if he was afraid to even touch you. Like you may break.

Perhaps you would…

Jungkook took a bite of his ice cream, careful not to allow the melting cream to fall on his white shirt. “And you keep wearing that shirt. Don’t you own another one?” you asked, pointing at him with your cone.

He glanced at you and rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the same one,” he said as he grabbed the seam of his oversized sleeve. “Look, this one has navy blue thread.”

“Ah, my sincerest apologies,” you said, laughing. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed lightly, tilting your head to the side. You shut your eyes and willed the sweat beading along your collarbone to dry up somehow.

Jungkook coughed a little, which caused your eyes to snap open. You watched him as he looked away, gaze frenetic as it passed over just about anything but your face. You caught a hint of red blooming across his high cheekbones. You furrowed your brow at him and leaned forward on the old picnic table, letting the wood creak beneath your weight.

“What’s up with you? Did you choke?” you asked with a laugh, scanning his face.

Finally, he met your eyes but it was only for the briefest moment before he continued coughing and looked away from you again. He nodded his head and covered his lips with his free hand, balled into a fist. You laughed and grabbed for the water bottle you’d packed in your backpack, sliding it across the table towards him.

He took it with a nod and downed about half before setting it back down on the table. “Thanks,” he breathed, clutching his chest with his eyes squeezed shut.

You chuckled and grabbed the water bottle once more. “You’re pretty, so it’s okay if you can’t breathe and eat ice cream at the same time,” you teased, to which his eyes opened wide and he stared at you, bewildered.

You cleared your throat and, in an effort to seem nonchalant, grabbed the water bottle that sat halfway between you, pressing the spout against your lips and taking a deep swig. “Whoa!” called Jungkook, grabbing for it and spilling water across the table. “I already drank out of there.”

You raised your brows and wiped the spray off of your shirt with a scoff. “What’s the big deal? We share drinks all the time,” you said, taking another lick of ice cream.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and stowed the rest of the water in his backpack. He glanced away, down towards the park beside where you sat, the children playing easily. He shrugged his shoulders before his posture went poor and he took another large bite of ice cream.

“It’s different.”

You supposed it really was.

“Jimin no,” you said.

“Jimin yes.” Your roommate grinned at you and wiggled his eyebrows.

You sighed and reclined against the kitchen table. “I don’t wanna go to a dumb party and do dumb shots listening to dumb music and-,”

“You’re avoiding it because Jungkook is going, aren’t you?”

You shut your mouth and scratched your arm, glancing towards the refrigerator. You’d never found the collection of polaroids you kept pinned there so fascinating. “Not exactly,” I mumbled.

He laughed and approached, placing a hand on your shoulder and leveling his gaze with yours. “Don’t lie to me, I’m too smart,” he said, laughing.

You met his eyes and sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just…he’s been so weird! It’s been over two weeks now and even though we pretend things are normal, we both know they aren’t,” you said with a shrug. “Why put myself through watching him hook up with girls when I can avoid it? And besides, I don’t want him to have a bad time because of me.”

Jimin sighed, rolling his eyes, and backed away from you. “Can you maybe think a little positively? For, like, two minutes?” he asked.

You groaned and lolled your head to the side, shutting your eyes and screwing your mouth up. “What’s there to be positive about? He’s treating me weird.”

“He’s treating you different,” corrected Jimin, shaking your shoulder and rousing you from your position at the table. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No,” you said as you rubbed an ache at the back of your neck. “Maybe.”

“Well? There you have it.”

You shook him away from you and walked to the couch. “I didn’t think it would make everything different! I just…needed to say it.”

“That’s the thing with words, my dear,” said Jimin, draping his arms over your shoulders from behind the couch. “Once they’re out, you can’t take them back.”

“Wish I could,” you said quietly.

He laughed and gave the side of your head a smack. “We’re going tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a proper house party,” he said, turning on his heel towards the hallway. “And I’m picking an outfit for you that’ll make you look like a saucy babe.”

You gagged. “Please don’t!” you called over your shoulder.

He tossed his head this way and that, pursing his lips. “Or a first-day prostitute.”

“Jimin!”

You had to admit…you were having a bit of fun. Between the alcohol coursing through your veins and the music loud enough to excuse you from any conversation you found tiring, you couldn’t deny that Jimin was right. The party wasn’t so bad. And you hadn’t so much as caught sight of Jungkook since arriving at the large house on the outskirts of the city. The music pumped through you and you felt it in your throat. Without really planning to, you’d found yourself a pretty good dance partner in the middle of the empty living room. With eyes squeezed shut in laughter and his hands occasionally guiding you through the punchy music, Jung Hoseok seemed an altogether different person.

“Say, are you deliberately not graduating so you still have an excuse to go to these parties?” you teased, clutching your cup close to your chest to prevent the precious amber liquid from sloshing onto the floor.

Hoseok peered down at you and laughed. “Caught me,” he said.

You chuckled. You knew from working on the project with him that he’d taken a few years off from college and his dance degree to travel and, even though you’d never have the courage to do it yourself, you thought the action was pretty cool. The song changed from a dance beat to something sultry, something that made your hips sway on their own. You caught Jimin’s eye across the sea of people dancing and found him chatting with a girl who had him backed against a wall. From the way he was looking at you, you could tell he was looking for an out. And as you were about to excuse yourself to help your friend, Hoseok’s hands found your waist and held you in place. You flushed and stared up at him to find him chuckling, leaning closer.

“Hoseok, what-,”

“I just wanna dance,” he said, his breath reeking of liquor.

You stiffened and took a sip of your own drink, glancing away. Your hips stopped moving as your lashes fluttered against your cheeks. Now you were looking for an out yourself. “I think my friend needs me,” you said quietly.

Hoseok chuckled and sighed, releasing you. “Whatever you say,” he said, stretching his hands over his head.

You cleared your throat and slipped between bodies which by then were moving like fluid around each other, following the sensual rhythm of the song. You cursed yourself. Not only was Hoseok handsome and good at dancing, he was pretty fun once you got him talking. Were you so far gone with Jungkook that you couldn’t even entertain the idea of being with someone else? You shook your head and squeezed out of the crowd, into the fray where Jimin stood, stiffly pressed against the wall with a strange girl’s hands on his chest, her lips close to the skin of his neck.

You approached and slipped beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist and offering a pout. “Jiminie,” you whined as he stared down at you, relief clear as if flooded his features. “I missed you.”

The girl, a cute thing shorter than you even in heels with a pretty pin in her hair, turned her eyes to you and raised her brows. “Oh,” she said. “Oh shit, do you have a girlfriend?”

Jimin nodded and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, I do actually. We live together,” he said, laughing awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

The girl covered her mouth and shook her head at you. “I’m so sorry! He didn’t say anything-,” she began, then shook her head once more. “I-uh, yeah I’ve gotta go…over here.” She turned and, waving over her shoulder, rushed into the pulsing heart of the party.

You sighed and leaned into Jimin’s side. “Why do you always get into so much trouble at these parties?” you asked, pinching his side.

Jimin jumped and quickly released your shoulders. “I don’t know!” he whined, staring down at you with knitted brows. “It’s like I’m catnip to crazy, aggressive college girls.”

You laughed and shoved his stomach slightly. “You’re so stupid.”

“Y/N,” said a voice from behind you.

You turned away from Jimin to see the one person you’d been desperately hoping to avoid. Jeon Jungkook stood looking effortless and handsome in a white button down shirt sitting just one button too open and pants too ripped for his own good. You swallowed and found his eyes once more. But that was even worse than his body. His face was covered in a light sheen of sweat, hair unruly, lips parted. You glanced away entirely. God, drunk you was even more dangerous than sober you…

“Hey, Kook,” said Jimin, clapping his shoulder. “Heard you rejected Y/N.”

“Jimin!” you shouted, giving his chest a hard smack. Even though Jungkook and Jimin were close, without you they wouldn’t be. You were the common link. And Jimin had made it clear on many occasions that if it ever came down to it, he’d choose you over him.

You never wanted him to have to make such a senseless choice.

Jungkook cleared his throat and ran a hand through his wild hair before meeting your eyes. “Um…I kinda…saw you dancing with Hoseok.”

“Classic,” said Jimin, rolling his eyes. “Jungkook, I love you but you’re literally so stupid. Like how can you reject someone and then-,”

“Jimin, do you value your life?” you asked, turning slowly to meet your friend’s eyes.

He coughed into the crook of his elbow and looked away. “I’m gonna…go get some drinks or something. Don’t be dumb!” he said, pointing at Jungkook before wheeling away towards the kitchen.

You sighed and waved your hand. “Ignore him. He’s just…being Jimin.”

Jungkook shook his head. “I don’t care about that,” he said, standing close to you. You could smell his faint cologne. His chest was a large expanse of partially-exposed skin before your eyes as he stood between you and the party. You glanced away and nodded. “Maybe…don’t hang out with Hoseok one-on-one too much, okay?”

Your eyes flashed at this and met his. “Huh?” you asked.

He wouldn’t look at you, focused on something behind your head as he set his lips thin. “He just has a bad reputation. Like, he goes through partners really quickly. You shouldn’t get hurt by someone like that.”

You inhaled sharply, watching the plane of his jaw constrict sharply against his neck, his eyes scanning the wall behind you. You watched the dewy sheen on his skin grow slightly heavier as he stood in the stuffy corner, obscuring you from the view of the rest of the world. You watched him exist, so close, so painfully close. If you reached your fingers out just a few centimeters, you could have touched him.

You shook your head and pushed him gently away from your body, giving yourself some room to breathe. To think. You glanced up and met his eyes. You were sure you were drunk. Too drunk to be talking with the love of your life at a party, that much was certain. And the words that came from your parted lips only proved it.

“You’re too cruel,” you whispered, shaking your head.

His brows raised as he stared down at you. “What?”

You smiled at him, a smile that felt sad on your mouth and bitter like liquor. “You’re really cruel, Jungkook.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head.

You nodded. “Exactly,” you said. “That’s the cruelest part.” You sighed and gave his shoulder a pat as you walked past him. “I’m gonna go dance. Will you hold on to my drink?”

He took the cup from your hands, fingertips brushing and butterflies flying rampant through your stomach. You smiled up at him and waved before disappearing into the thick of the crowd of bodies. The sexy song was still going strong, low notes and drawling pace. Everyone was pressed close together in pairs.

Everyone except for one person.

Hoseok stood dancing alone in the center of the crowd. You approached and, without warning, wrapped your arms about his shoulders, hooking your elbows behind his neck as he stared at you, stunned. After only a moment of surprise, his expression melted into a playful grin and he held you close by the hips, helping you find the rhythm.

“How did things go with the friend?” he asked, lips close to your ear, causing shivers to run down your spine.

You pressed yourself closer and, even though you couldn’t see him standing shocked at the edge of the crowd, you could feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. You smiled and, your partner’s grip tightening on your hips. “They’re settled now,” you said.

The weather was starting to shift, just slightly. Where a few weeks ago there was blistering heat and sunlight strong enough to scorch your skin and melt your popsicle, now there was only a light breeze and a freshness in the air. Autumn was on its way, however slowly it was crawling. You sat in the quad, ankles crossed and head tossed back as you allowed the sunlight to caress your skin. All around you were groups of students, lounging as they enjoyed the long-awaited break in the humid, poor weather. The grass was filled with kids holding books or playing games. You smiled and shut your eyes with a contented sigh.

“Are you even paying attention?” asked Hoseok.

You opened one eye and shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

He sighed and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what did I just say then?”

You pursed your lips. “You said…I look really good in yellow,” you said, grinning at your big yellow shirt. He sighed and kicked your shin while you laughed, the two of you sharing his blanket.

“Wrong,” he said as he stuck out his tongue. “It’s true though.”

You nodded, shutting your eyes once more and leaning back on your palms. “What were you really saying, Hoseok?” you asked.

He sighed and began talking once more about an essay he’d been putting off. The two of you had grown closer since the party three weeks prior. It seemed he really had just wanted to dance that night and, even though the chemistry you’d hoped might lead to something more only led to a vibrant friendship, it was enough to keep you away from Jungkook. Seeing him in class was hard enough, but now you had a perfect excuse to avoid spending any more time with him than was strictly necessary. You still wanted to see him and do fun things together, but…just not alone anymore.

He’d asked you just an hour before if you wanted to take a walk by the river, to which you’d shaken your head with a wink, not even bothering to mention Hoseok’s name. You had to admit that you got some sick satisfaction in the way Jungkook’s nostrils would flare every time you blew him off to spend time with Hoseok. It was sadistic, but at least he was getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Jesus Christ, you weren’t listening. Again,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You gaped. “I so was! Essay. On…uh…the history of…”

“The history of interpretive dance,” Hoseok supplied, taking a sip of his bubble tea. “I used to think you were hot before I got to know you. You’re literally the worst friend I’ve ever had.”

You smacked his thigh and met his eyes with a glare. “Then why do you hang out with me?”

He thought a moment. “I mean…your roommate is kinda cute so that’s incentive-,”

You cut him off with another loud smack to his thigh. “Don’t perv on my roommate! Have you no decency?” you asked.

He laughed and rubbed the skin where you’d made contact, now growing red. “Hey, that reminds me. Are you guys free this weekend?” he asked.

You raised your brows and examined a cuticle, resting your free hand in the dewy grass. “Dunno. I’ll have to ask Jimin. Why?”

He smiled. “Well, there’s the fair going on in the city. I figured we could all go together.”

“If you’re only inviting me so you can flirt with Jimin then I’m not gonna ask him to go,” you said, eyeing him.

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I’m not that desperate,” he said, then laughed. “Besides, I already have his number.”

You sighed as he stuck his tongue out at you once more. “You’re such a kid,” you commented, before laughing with him. “I’ll see if he’s free.”

“Y/N?”

You turned at the mention of your name and saw jogging towards you with a football in his hand was Jungkook. You sighed and glanced towards Hoseok who, cleverly, seemed to understand the situation wordlessly. He scooted an inch closer to you, resting his hand beside your thigh.

You waved at Jungkook and he smiled at you before glancing to the side to see who was seated beside you. His smile faltered before falling entirely and he met your eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.”

You gestured broadly with your hands. “Welcome to the plans,” you said with a laugh. “Wanna sit?” You patted the space on Hoseok’s checkered blanket left empty at your side.

He glanced over his shoulder at the boys awaiting his return, and then back towards you. You only offered because you knew what he’d choose. He was competitive and a little immature. He’d always prioritized you just slightly below his newer friends, even if he didn’t know it himself. If you asked him to hang out at your apartment and watch Ghibli movies on the same night his pals from whatever sports team he’d joined asked him to do who-knows-what, he’d always pick the latter without fail. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it, that college was the time to make new connections and find people with whom you shared common interests. You knew he still cared for you. But you also knew that to him…you’d always been constant. So constant in fact that he’d gotten by not making much effort with you because of sheer loyalty — and unrequited, desperate love — alone. This time would be no different, you assumed. You two had been friends so long, perhaps he felt like he didn’t need to do anything to keep you around. You, after all, were someone he never feared losing…

He sighed and gave the football a strong throw, muscles contracting and releasing, before turning his gaze to you with a smile. “Sure,” he said, plopping down beside you.

Your cheeks flamed and your stomach fluttered. This was new indeed. “Um,” you said, unprepared for his reaction. You’d assumed he’d leave like usual…

“What are you two up to?” he asked, giving Hoseok a smile too.

Hoseok stretched his arms above his head and shrugged as they fell to the earth. “Just teasing dear Y/N for being such a shitty listener,” he said, poking your side.

You swatted his hand away and laughed. “I’m not!” you insisted. “You’re just boring.”

Hoseok gaped and a gasp escaped his lips. “How dare!”

Jungkook chuckled. “Y/N is just like that,” he said, glancing at you from above as he leaned back on his palms. “The kind of person who you tell something to, like, a million times and they still forget it.”

“That’s rude!” you called, wagging your finger in his face.

Hoseok laughed. “Ahh,” he exclaimed, grabbing your cheeks and giving them a big squeeze, stretching your face. “Our Y/N is so unreliable.”

You struggled against him, but laughed nonetheless. “Shut up! More reliable than you. How many times did you show up late to our group meetings? Huh? How many?” you asked, taking his cheeks in your hands and stretching as well.

The two of you were locked in this standoff for a moment before Hoseok laughed and broke away first. “Stupid.”

“I hope you stub your toe later,” you said, rolling your eyes and glancing towards Jungkook who was scanning you carefully, brows slightly lowered. “You okay, Kookie?” you asked. He said nothing. “Hello?” you called, waving a hand in front of his face.

He smirked and grabbed your hand in his. “Gotcha,” he said with a laugh.

But as his hand clasped around yours, your heart began to pound audibly in your ears and you blinked rapidly with panic before tearing your hand away and placing it carefully in your lap. You looked away from him, pushing your hair out of your face and clearing your throat.

“Both of you, stop messing with me,” you said, but your voice was quiet, timid, lacking the strength it normally had.

And, when you turned your gaze cautiously upward towards Jungkook, you found his almond-shaped eyes cast far away, a distant, pensive look on his face. You wondered if you’d ever really seen that expression. After years thinking you knew everything about him…

“Hoseok, so help me if you make me go on one more roller coaster-,” began Jimin as he held tightly onto your arm, swaying from the queasiness.

Hoseok laughed and hooked an elbow around your neck, taking up your other side. “You know you had fun,” he teased.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Fun would be eating an entire funnel cake on my own,” he said, then sighed.

The three of you cruised through the crowd which pulsed on either side of you, the sun setting into navy dusk overhead. Mostly families and groups of high school kids, the fair patrons caused a racket all around the grounds. You and Jimin had unintentionally fallen into Hoseok’s pace as the evening had worn on, following him around on the scariest rides, watching him lose at all the fair games until one of you had to step in to keep him from spending all his money, helping him calm down when he jumped out of his skin at one of the fair mascots who’d approached him too suddenly. And you’d laughed. You’d had a wonderful time, really.

Really.

But…something was missing. As you glanced around the walkway rimmed on both edges by booth games and pop-up shops illuminated by yellow light, you couldn’t help but think there was someone you knew who would love it the most. Between the adrenaline-pumping rides shooting you into the sky before plummeting you to the earth, the pretty paper lanterns hanging on strings above your heads, the snacks that were more grease than food, and the challenging games with massive plush prizes, you knew how much Jungkook would have enjoyed it. Your best friend was missing. Normally, you’d have come here with him. You’d have wandered around aimlessly, arms brushing now and again, sharing cotton candy. Perhaps one of the booth workers would have confused you two for a couple and teased Jungkook. Perhaps he would have laughed and, like always, gently corrected the misunderstanding.

But you’d ruined it all. You had neither a boyfriend or a best friend. You’d gambled and lost both. And now you had to stand and watch couples so sickeningly in love that it made you want to cry. Locked fingers, warm gazes, soft voices, and warm embraces. You’d longed for it for so long, seeing things like that while walking with Jungkook, thinking that a secret one-sided love was the most painful of all.

But you were wrong.

Unrequited love wasn’t the problem. It was love that, despite being known to both parties, remained unrequited.

You smiled sadly at your hands as Hoseok adjusted his lazy hold on your shoulders and Jimin staggered to the side, holding onto the side of a wooden ring-toss booth as he regained his balance. You exhaled slowly, watching the trampled grass below your feet.

“You’re sighing a lot,” said Hoseok with a hum, leaning towards your ear to blow in it, sending a ticklish chill down your spine.

You gasped and, through laughter, gave him a shove. “Jesus! Don’t do that,” you said, shaking your head.

Hoseok laughed with you until something behind your head caught his attention. For a moment, he stared at whatever had seized him. Then he glanced down at you and, offering a bright smile, placed both his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. He squeezed the sides of your face, causing your flesh to bunch up.

“Don’t be so sad,” he said. “I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

You struggled to open your mouth with your cheeks pressed so firmly, but when you could the first thing you did was sigh. “Hoseok, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gave you a wink and shook your face a little. “Your roommate told me. About your crush. Although I could’ve guessed myself.”

You gaped and shook Hoseok’s hands off your face. You turned to Jimin who, still struggling beside you, glanced your way with round, innocent eyes. You gave his arm a firm smack and he whined. But you gave him another shove, crossing your arms once you’d finished.

“What?!” he yelled. “Did I do something wrong? Everyone knows anyway!”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, turning on your heel to resume your conversation with Hoseok. But halfway through your movement, something caught your eye down the alley of booths. You realized then what Hoseok had seen over your shoulder. Just a few paces away, dark hair quaffed out of his face and eyes glittering in the soft yellow light, stood Jungkook. And he was wearing that goddamn white shirt again.

You furrowed your brow at him as a few guys approached from his sides and grabbed his attention. Along with…a very pretty girl. Long dark hair, dressed prettily in a nice blouse that complimented her skin tone, pristine makeup, eyes set solely on Jungkook’s horribly handsome face.

You stiffened and raised one weak hand to wave at him. He returned the gesture, but it was almost forced. You set your lips and watched the pretty girl grab onto his arm, holding it close to her chest. Jungkook, startled by the sudden contact, jumped slightly and looked down at her with wide eyes. Gently, she pointed a pretty finger towards the game in front of her, throwing in a bright, charming smile for good measure. Jungkook followed where she’d pointed and raised his brows. You couldn’t hear, but the two began talking.

Your heart ached and you turned away, back towards Hoseok. “I think your feeling was wrong. Maybe a career in fortune telling isn’t for you,” you said with a laugh that you thought might become a cry.

He met your eyes with a sad smile and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Hey, don’t mind it, alright?” he said.

You grinned. “My specialty, unfortunately,” you said, patting his hand. “Let’s go on the ferris wheel.”

The two of you stood in line side-by-side, approaching the front as the night sky darkened measure by measure. Jimin had become rather motion sick and decided to sit this particular adventure, and any subsequent moving machines, out on the sidelines. You could no longer see him sitting on a bench by himself, drinking ginger ale with a straw, under-eyes dark with shades of blue and purple.

You sighed and played with your hands. You couldn’t get the image out of your head. Jungkook’s arm, arrested in that beautiful girl’s grip. His expression when she’d pointed to the booth. Maybe he’d won her a nice prize. Maybe this was a sort of first date. Jungkook was pretty shy when it came to dating, so his friends could have been there to keep things from getting awkward-

“Y/N,” said Hoseok, poking your forehead between your eyebrows. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep this up.”

You met his eyes and blinked. “Huh? Sorry, I was-,”

“You were thinking about it,” he said, then frowned at you. “I told you not to do that.”

You laughed and nodded. “Sorry.”

“Listen, if that Jung-kid or whatever doesn’t see that you’re a great person, then he doesn’t deserve to date you,” he said, nodding resolutely.

“I tell myself that,” you said. “But…I dunno, after so many years you kinda have to think it’s not a him problem, but a me problem.”

Hoseok sighed. “Being negative doesn’t suit you,” he said. “Jimin said you’re stupidly optimistic.”

You scoffed. “If anyone’s stupid, it’s him,” you said, then peeked up at Hoseok with a smirk. “But, come to think of it…you two have been talking a lot lately.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “You’re right about one thing,” he said. “He is stupid.” He grabbed your arm and hooked it through his own, patting the top of your hand. “I wanted to spend some time with him tonight, but he’s such a wimp, getting sick after just a few rides.”

You laughed. “He’s like that,” you said. “If you wanna date him, you’re gonna have to get used to caring for a child.”

The line moved forward, leaving you and Hoseok at the front. You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder. “Hoseok…boys are dumb,” you said quietly.

He laughed and nodded his head, watching the top of the ferris wheel as it pierced the sky. “Sure are.”

“Next!” called the worker, waving you forward with his hand, not even bothering to look at you as the two of you approached the ferris wheel.

Hoseok smiled and held your hand as you stepped inside the big wobbly box first. “Careful,” he said as you stumbled slightly before settling into your seat.

You patted the space beside you as he lifted a foot to step inside himself, but as his toe touched the metal bottom, he reared back as if pulled by the shoulders from behind and, in his place, a familiar face came into view in your cage-like box. Your eyes grew wide as Jungkook settled on the bench beside you, swinging the door shut behind him as the ride began moving. You gasped and looked over the open sides as Hoseok’s stunned form grew smaller, your hands gripping the edge as your mouth fell slack.

“I…I need to talk to you,” said Jungkook in a small voice.

You turned to him gaping. “You have my number!” you shouted. “Jesus, you could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“At your age?” he asked with a smile. You didn’t return it, still fuming with crossed arms, and he quickly righted himself with a cough into the crook of his elbow. “Um…I…”

“You what?”

He sighed. “Well, aren’t you supposed to like me or something?” he asked, looking at you with furrowed brows.

Your back went stiff and you scoffed. “W-What? So? Am I not allowed to hang out with Hoseok then?”

“Not when you like someone else!”

“Who are you that you think I’ll just…like you forever?!” you yelled, throwing your hands up. “Besides, you looked pretty cozy with that girl.”

“That…girl?” he asked, glancing away as he thought. “God, Sana? Do you mean Sana?”

You shrugged. “How would I know?”

He scoffed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Jealous?”

“Of course I am, you idiot!” you shouted, shaking your head as you looked to the side. You were halfway to the top and it felt like an eternity already. “You said it yourself. I like you.”

He blinked at you quietly for a moment, the stars overhead reflecting in his perfectly dark eyes. “S-Still?”

“Are you dumb?” you asked. “I’ve liked you for years, is that just gonna disappear in a few weeks?”

“Then…Hoseok?” he asked.

You glanced at him before huffing and shrugging your shoulders. “Just a friend,” you said, then sighed. “He’s got a thing for Jimin anyway.”

Jungkook sat quietly for a moment, then nodded his head. “Huh.”

“Well what about that Sana girl then? Why was she holding onto you like that?” you asked, and without meaning to a pout found your lips.

He shook his head. “Don’t you remember her from when we were younger? My cousin? She lives in Busan?”

You sat upright and stared at him with wide eyes. “C-Cousin?”

He sighed. “Yeah. She’s visiting so I took her out with some friends.”

“Oh…,” you said. The two of you sat in an awkward, endless silence.

The sky was darker, with only a small orb of sunlight left in the west. The late summer winds tossed Jungkook’s hair around delicately, brushing it off his forehead as he stared at the setting sun. There was an air of shyness you weren’t used to, as if both of you had unwittingly revealed your trump cards to one another and were left to sit in the quiet aftermath. You peeked at him and sighed as you looked at his shirt, clinging to his biceps as he sat with his arms crossed.

You reached out and tugged at it, frustration seeping into you. “Why do you keep wearing this? Are you doing it on purpose?” you asked, your voice raising. “It’s like…ugh, it’s like you know exactly what to do to shake me up but you don’t even know you’re doing it! Do you know how frustrating it’s been? Liking you so much for so long? Having to sit with you and pretend I didn’t? Watching you chase after other people? Going home with you and listening to your parents praise me while you space off? Looking at you wearing white shirt after white shirt after white shirt when I told you I like how you look in them?!” You felt tears rising in your eyes and your throat became tight. You shook your head. “Have you ever even considered me? Even once?”

He stared down at you, at your hand knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt, and then back at your eyes. You sniffled and glanced away, but as you reached the top, the ferris wheel jerked slightly, sending you falling forward. If you hadn’t caught yourself, you’d have face-planted his lap. But as you glanced up, captured between his thighs, sitting on your knees, you almost wished you would have. His eyes were burning and bright, staring at you from above with parted lips. Gently, he pressed a cool hand against your warm cheek and smoothed his fingers over your skin. Your heart began to race, but you begged it to stop. You’d been down this road before. But the way he touched you felt so tender, so gentle.

He blinked at you slowly and you, eyes level with his chest, let a few stray tears fall onto the tops of his knees. “I didn’t,” he said.

Your brows raised. “Huh?”

“I didn’t consider you,” he said, then shook his head. “But now I feel like you’re all I consider.”

You felt flush, your head going fuzzy, as you watched his expression soften. “You…what?”

“I don’t know either,” he said with a quiet laugh, more of an exhale. “Why do I want to shake you up? Why do I get so mad when I see you with other guys? Why do I want to take your hand and keep you to myself?”

You swallowed and shook your head. “Don’t say that,” you said.

He took your chin in his fingers and guided your eyes back to his. “Why do I get nervous around you? Why do I think about kissing you so much?”

“Please don’t say it unless you mean it,” you said, voice a begging, desperate whisper. “I told you to forget I said anything-,”

“What if I don’t want to forget it?”

Your eyes went wide and you traced the fine lines of his chest and neck to his face. “What?”

He nodded and tilted his head down slightly. Unconsciously, you pushed yourself up on your legs as his face loomed nearer. His nose brushed yours before he shut his eyes and you, still shocked, simply gazed at him. You’d never imagined seeing him so close. Every small detail, every tiny freckle, every smooth expanse of skin on his face…you could see it all. You felt his lips brush against yours and your eyes snapped shut. Anticipation had your hands shaking as they sat pressed palms-down on the bench between his legs.

Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. It was almost uncertain, timid. His hand on your chin moved slowly to the back of your neck as he gained momentum, holding you in place. Smoothly, he tilted his head to the other side. White-hot butterflies flew through your stomach with every subtle movement, and as his lips parted against yours you brought your arms up to hook behind his neck. His free hand slid against your side and fell to your lower back where it sat, gentle, undemanding. Slowly he pulled away but before you could even open your eyes, his lips were upon you again, pressed firmly now against yours as he deepened the kiss. His kiss was hotter now, needier. His hand fell from behind your neck to join his other hand on your back, both of them smoothing over your sides as if he was desperate to touch you. You were just as frenzied, hands moving against the warm skin of his neck, sliding across his chest.

You felt him exhale against you, a breathy hum, as he broke away and trailed slow kisses against your cheek to your jawline. He pressed pecks against your skin before reaching the space between your jaw and your ear. The breath from his nose caused your body to wiggle and you couldn’t help the jittery laugh the escaped you. He pulled away and stared down at you with wide eyes, as if he’d surprised even himself.

“I-,” you began.

But he only looked at you for a moment before placing both his hands on your cheeks and pulling you in for another sweet, delicate kiss. You gasped as he pressed his lips against yours once more before pulling away to look at you properly, his fingers rubbing against your cheeks as a bright smile fought its way onto his face.

“You’re so red,” he said, laughing slightly.

You swatted his hands away and crawled up to sit beside him. “You surprised me.”

He smiled at his lap and laughed. “I’m sorry. Did you not like it?” he asked.

You flushed and shrugged your shoulders. “I…liked it.”

Silently, he slid his hand onto the top of your knee and grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your heart pounded. You’d never even allowed yourself to dream of something like this happening for real. It was too painful to imagine it knowing it would never become reality. But you could feel his hand in yours, hear him breathing so close beside you, feel the traces of heat his lips had left behind.

“I’m sorry for pretending nothing happened,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting so weird lately.”

He laughed. “You have an excuse at least,” he said, then sighed. “I was just…stunned. For a while, really. I guess I never really considered that you’d have feelings for me. It wasn’t really on my radar.”

“I’m a good actor then,” you said with a laugh.

He joined you and squeezed your hand. “You were,” he said. “I never would’ve guessed. But I think…deep down I always kind of had a thing for you. Whenever someone would confess to you I’d always get kinda mad, you know? Even though you turned them down.”

“You’d always complain about it when I’d tell you. You said that guys are scary and I shouldn’t trust them,” you said, rolling your eyes. “The way I see it, you’re the scariest of all of them.”

He bumped your shoulder as the ferris wheel began descending again. “I never thought about it. About what it meant,” he said with a sigh. “I let you go through it all on your own when I could have been there for you.”

“You couldn’t have,” you said, laughing. “Trust me, I would have been mortified if you knew any sooner.”

He shrugged. “I guess you confessing was the shock I needed to finally think about it seriously. Think about…you seriously.”

You flushed and glanced at your interlocked hands sitting atop your knee. This was real. The fresh air, the sky, the distant sounds of the fair: all of it was evidence that this moment was reality. You smiled. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”

He shoved you slightly with a laugh. “Me too,” he began, then furrowed his brow and pouted at you. “But I’m kind of mad,” he said.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, outlined by the lightening moon. “Why?”

“We could have been doing that for years,” he said, sighing. “It feels like a waste.”

You rolled your eyes and placed a peck quickly against his cheek. He turned to you with a bright smile and shocked gaze, laughing. “We’ll just make up for it then.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your cheek before slowly making his way to your lips, using his free hand to hold your face softly. The kiss was slow, unhurried and without urgency. You two had all the time in the world, after all. He inhaled as he pulled away and grinned at you, face still close to yours, before pulling back and kissing the side of your head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned against him.

“Jimin’s gonna freak out,” you said quietly into the night air.

Jungkook laughed and nodded. “Now my mom can finally stop nagging me about asking you out.”

You peered at him from below. “You still haven’t, you know,” you began, then smiled. “Asked me out, I mean.”

He scoffed. “Then do I just kiss anyone?” he asked.

You shrugged and pursed your lips. “How would I know?”

He shook your shoulders and laughed. “Will you date me then?”

You tilted your head to the side. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Hey!”

“Check my schedule.”

“Stop it!”

“I have many suitors you know.”

“Y/N!” he yelled, staring down at you with wide eyes.

You laughed and nodded. “Of course I’ll date you, you big dork,” you said, beaming at the boy, the unrequited love that had been requited all along.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 4: The Universe; Behind the Scenes

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Mentions of Past Death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC Additional Tags: Thanos Is A Tool, Influence is Not the Same as Control, God I Want That Bathtub Summary:  Reader learns what she remembers, but not why.

“What the hel was that?” Loki demanded. “She was fine one minute, and then she falls apart over a mere face full of dust? Who does that?”

“I can think of a reason.” Thor said softly.

“Brother?” Thor was rarely introspective, and Loki didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“She’s had a hard day. She will need rest, but I have some questions first. “

“I’m sure we all have.” Loki grouched. “Seems like that’s all we have.”

                                                                                             *****

The bath was nice, though the toiletries all smelled of him. You were surprised by how much mud had gotten in your hair. You weren’t made for such bizarre happenings: magic, and kidnapping gods, and ancient civilizations being built anew. Nothing about today seemed quite real. Even time was wrong. A few hours ago you were clocking in for the morning shift at work. Now the sun hung low in the sky. Evening was coming. You’d lost an entire day. You supposed that made its own kind of sense, since technically, aliens were involved.

Where were you now? This couldn’t be your country. Yes, the U.S. was pretty big, big enough to cover several time zones, but you didn’t think there was any part of the continental United States that was night while another part was morning. You had to be all the way across an ocean, or somewhere similarly as far. What a pity. You would have liked to see that. Flying over an ocean must be beautiful.

The towels were nice, much nicer than you were used to. Everything was probably going to be higher quality than you were used to, since royalty was involved.

How were you supposed to talk to them? There was no real royalty in your country; you didn’t know the etiquette. How did one address a prince? A king? A god?

Someone had taken your clothes while you bathed. Of course you couldn’t put them back on while they were still so filthy, but it made you feel vulnerable all the same. The tunic you had been provided in their place did not fit correctly at all; it was too loose in the shoulder, too long in the arms, and too tight in the hips. This was obviously a man’s garment, olive green and incredibly soft. You didn’t want to think about it. At least the provided slippers fit correctly. Your legs remained mostly bare, but you didn’t think they were all that much to look at anyway. The tunic was made for someone taller than you, so it covered enough.

This little set of rooms was odd to you. Like a whole house inside of another building. Here a bath, there a library, there and there a bedroom. And when you tried to leave back out into what you thought was the main corridor, there was a young man in armor there to stop you. He was polite, but he spoke a language you didn’t know.

“I’m sorry.” You told him. “I don’t understand.” He led you back into the library and pointed at a chair. “Oh, I get it. Sit down and wait, huh? I can do that.”

He waited until you had gotten yourself seated before going back to his post. He must have had orders not to let you leave. Annoying, but fair; they wouldn’t want you running off, and after that small panic attack earlier, it might not be safe for you to wander around without a guide.

You started browsing through the books, but most of them were in unfamiliar languages. When Loki came to collect you, you were going through illustrations and diagrams that you couldn’t read, but found interesting nevertheless. You looked up from a beautiful drawing of a huge tree with little worlds hanging it its branches, and he was just there.

“Uh…How long-“ You began.

“You make so many little noises when you read. Do you fear silence, or are you simply that lacking in self-awareness?”

“It’s just a habit.” You said defensively. “No one’s ever complained before.”

“You live completely alone. Who is there to complain? You will have to break that habit while you are within these walls. We cannot have incessant noise disturbing our guards, or my contemplations.”

You turned back to the illustrations, cheeks burning slightly. So it was just a little habit! It wasn’t that big a deal.

“You say it like we’ve gotta be joined at the hip all the time, but that’s obviously not the case, because I just had a nice bath without you. So unless you were waiting just outside the door-which would be creepy-then I’m sure my ‘incessant noises’ won’t be as big a problem as you’re making them out to be. “

You both let the moments pass in increasingly uncomfortable silence.

“I was harsh with you.” It was a statement, not an apology, but also probably the closest you were ever going to get.

“You were. I was…rude.” You conceded. You really must have crossed a line when you called him a monster. You had let your temper and fear run off with you.

“You were.” He agreed. “You were frightened. It’s only natural. And I was…frustrated. But that time is passed, and now the time has come for greater things.” He beckoned for you to follow him, and you did, curiosity growing.

Where could you possibly be going now? Some kind of magical laboratory, to run tests on your rune? A spiritual center, to meditate on this magical connection that sapped or restored energy based on how close the two of you were? A medical area, where they might operate on your hand to learn more about it?

“Where are we going?” You asked softly.

“Dinner.” He said airily, and you snorted. Greater things, huh? Still, something as mundane as dinner sounded amazing right now. You’d technically gone the whole day without eating. Something mundane sounded very nice right about now. You might not get that again for some time.

He looked oddly normal as well, which struck you as strange. It somehow never occurred to you that he didn’t look the same all the time. But all you’d ever had for reference was video footage of the battle. He wore armor to intimidate, horns to add height. Not that he needed it. The top of your head barely reached his shoulders. You would have never expected someone like him to even have casual clothes, if all those pin-tucks and diagonal shapes counted as casual. You tried to ignore the similar shapes on the ill fitted tunic you currently wore.

It was hard to believe how much different he looked without that helmet. How much the sharpness of his face was softened by letting his hair fall lose around his shoulders.

“Like something you see?” He asked. “You’re staring, you know.”

“Sorry.” You said, embarrassment creeping in. “It’s just that you look…”

He turned to watch you, the corners of his mouth lifting, ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“You look like a man.”

He paused, the tiny smile fleeing. “As opposed to a monster?” Then he quickened his pace, and you struggled to keep up.

“That’s not what I-“

“Oh don’t worry.” He cut you off. “After all, I’ve never shown this world anything different.”

“Lo-“ You started, then held your tongue. No, you couldn’t call him by name. You weren’t friends. Whatever reasons he might have had, he was the architect of a major disruption in your life. There was no way you had a job anymore, and if you ever got home, you probably wouldn’t have your apartment either. Your houseplants were going to die. Your friends and father, and coworkers had no idea you were still alive. And all of this was quite literally by his hand.

How were you supposed to address him?

“Your…Highness?” You tried, and he made an affirming noise. “Can you tell me where we are?”

“Yes.” He said, and nothing else. It took you a moment to realize he was doing that obnoxious thing some teachers do in order to amend their students’ grammar.  How annoying.

“Please tell me where we are, your highness.” You said in a voice pitched higher than normal. Years of working in retail with difficult customers gave your demeanor a false show of being chipper. He noticed instantly, giving you a strange look.

“Within the kingdom of Asgard, but you would know this island as Iceland.”

“Iceland? How did-how am I-I…I’ve never been to Iceland.” You spluttered lamely. You had never been so far from home in your life. You’d never really wanted to. You were well and truly trapped, weren’t you? If you found that you really needed to leave, there really was nowhere for you to run. Even if you could make it out of the unbuilt city, you didn’t know where any other towns were. You wouldn’t be able to speak to any people you might find.  They would know you shouldn’t be there, see that you had no passport, no identification. They’d haul you right to jail. That was all that awaited you outside the city. Death in a foreign landscape, or prison.

“Oh god, I’m an illegal immigrant.” You murmured.

“What are you talking about?” He led you into a large room with a huge table in the center, and then right past that table, and into a much smaller room, with a much smaller table, set with three dinners, and furnished with the king of Asgard.

“Yes.” He asked. “What are we talking about?”

“I don’t have a passport! I’m illegal, I’ll be put in jail!

Thor shrugged. “You’re a guest of the Crown, at least for a little while. You don’t have to worry about it. Sit with us; eat. Ease your worries. We’re going to take care of you.”

You took a seat opposite Thor; Loki sat next to you, not, as you expected, next to his brother. It almost felt like they were fencing you in, putting themselves between you and the door. Or between you and anyone who might come through the door.

The food was simple, and looked good, if a little unfamiliar. A bowl of hearty stew, full of vegetables and tasting of herbs your tongue had never met. A little pot of creamy white stuff, topped with orange sauce that turned out to be sweet instead of spicy. A chunk of something that was trying to be bread but was actually dried fish that you were supposed to spread butter on as if it was bread. And a glass of strong cider that you had trouble actually drinking. Alcohol was usually too pricy for you, and so you never drank much.

It was warm, and it was good, and it was what your body, confused by time zones, desperately needed. You ate every bit, even the buttered fish. But you said nothing, not until Thor addressed you directly.

“I know you have had a very rough day, and I know you must be tired and confused, but would you be willing to entertain a few questions?”

What choice did you have? He was right about being tired; the hot food and cider had hit you pretty hard. But it wasn’t like you could just tell him to go stuff it either, could you? You put your customer service face back on.

“Sure, ask away!”

He raised one eyebrow at the fake cheer in your voice, but made no comment on it.

“I’d like to assure you that we keep this place very clean. No dust, unless you go near construction zones. But, if it’s not too uncomfortable, could you tell us why you reacted like that? So we can keep you safer in the future.”

Damn. You should’ve known they wouldn’t let that go. Six months ago, you had been sure he would have an answer for you; now you just didn’t know. Would he think you were crazy too? But he was a god; was it possible to lie to a god?

“I’ll know if you’re lying.” Loki said, as if hearing your thoughts.

“There’s no need for threats.” Thor chided him.

“I wasn’t.”

“If you are comfortable talking about it.” Thor concluded.

“It’s difficult.” You said. “It’s not that I don’t want to; I kinda do, and I have for a long time. But it seems like some great big secret that I can’t bring up, because most people don’t believe me, and the ones that do are sort of paranoid of being thought crazy. Look, something happened about a year and a half ago, except it didn’t, but it did. And I know you probably won’t believe me, but-“

“Half your world turned to dust.” Thor said grimly. “People, plants, animals, everything. And then it all went back to normal, as if nothing happened. But not for you. In the time between the two events, you suffered. You mourned. You struggled and starved. And now you remember, when it seems no one else does.”

Loki stared at you. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

You had gone very still and very pale as Thor spoke out that list of everything you had gone through.

“I knew it.” You whispered. “I knew it. I knew it was real. That many people couldn’t have the same hallucination. I knew you knew something!”

Thor nodded, still looking very serious.

“That’s why I went to the tower in the first place! That’s why I tried to approach you! I knew one of you knew something!”

“But the spell-“ Loki began.

“What happened?” You demanded, excitement overcoming your sleepiness.

“It’s a lengthy tale, if you’re up for it.” Thor warned, but you only nodded in enthusiasm.

“Very well. It begins when the universe does.” Wow, he wasn’t kidding.

“Thor, are you sure this is a good idea?” Loki broke in.

Thor shrugged. “Looks like something went wrong. She’s not supposed to remember, but she does.”

“That spell was cast for a reason.” Loki protested.

“Which do you suppose was worse? Being one of the lives initially lost, or being one of those left behind to live in that broken universe? Do you know what that was like? Being the only one left? I say she deserves an answer. “

Loki rolled his eyes. “No, if you recall, I was dead at the time. Whatever, tell her what you will, but I’ll not be taking responsibility when it blows up in your face.”

“Wait, you…you died? Did you turn to dust too?” That even happened to the gods?

“Not exactly,” He muttered. “It was more of a hand’s on experience.”

“He was very brave.” Thor said.

“I was very foolish.” Loki retorted, but he looked more proud than angry.

“What happened?” You asked again.

“Yes, the story. Directly after this universe came into being, there also spawned a handful of concepts; embodiments of the things that make up the universe and everything in it. These things were given physical forms, shaped into shining gems of incredible power. Wars were fought over them, and with them, but only certain powerful individuals can actually use them. I have a friend who has seen what happens when someone who is too weak tries to handle one. Not pretty, apparently. However, Loki has used two of them before.”

Pride colored those last words, and Loki looked unsure of how to take being bragged about.

“For certain definitions of ‘used’, I suppose.”

“There was someone else who wanted them, a homicidal lunatic, name of Thanos. An absolute waste of space who brought nothing to the universe but mountains of corpses. Twisted. Worthless. Seems like all he could do was destroy. The Chitauri invasion? That was him.”

“That was him.” You pointed at Loki.

“Certain definitions of used.” He repeated.

You looked back and forth between the brothers. “What are you trying to tell me here?”

“He used the Mind Stone.” Thor said. “While at the same time, it used him. It affected everyone around it.”

“Wait, you mean mind control?” You asked, shocked by this revelation. “These things have their own will? Why haven’t you told anyone? Everyone thinks-“

“Do not mistake me.” Loki interrupted. “No matter how much my brother would like to paint me as an innocent in this, I still did what I did. Those were my actions and my decisions. One can very easily be a victim, and be guilty at the same time. Take it as a demonstration of what I am capable of, just not everything that I am.” He sighed, but his expression remained neutral.

“It is however, correct to think that, without Thanos, without the influence of that stone, I don’t think I would have done any of it. But I did, and there is no way to erase that. Do not make of me something I am not. I was the person who did all those things. But I am not now, and will not be again.”

“I don’t know what to think about this.” You said, but internally you were a bit relieved. You hadn’t actually stopped being frightened of him, but it was very reassuring to know that all that malice, all that bigotry and hatred hadn’t all been him. If his words could be trusted, anyway. Thor wasn’t objecting though, so maybe he really was on the level.

“He did take his stand against Thanos though.” Thor continued. “We all did; heroes of Earth, of Asgard, of the stars. And every last one of us failed. Most of us died, either in his quest for the stones, or in the event he caused. He came into possession of all of the stones, which allowed him to reshape the universe as he wanted it to be. “

“Which was…nearly empty?”

“He was a madman. He was obsessed with his savior complex, but his bloodlust was far greater, and I think he forgot how to separate the two. So yes, instead of thinking up ways to change reality for the better, he felt the logical choice was to kill everybody.”

“He had no creativity or finesse, unless he was causing harm.” Loki muttered.

“Now this is the part I really can’t tell you about, which is a shame, because it was amazing. However, because of the forces involved, the fewer people who ever know about it, the better. But we few survivors took our battle to reality itself, and we succeeded. We regained what Thanos took from us, and erased his nightmarish vision of the universe.”

“Before separating the stones and returning them to their proper guardians, the sorcerers among us used them to cast a spell over everything and everyone; that none save those of us involved should have any memory of the event we erased. We wanted to undo that suffering, but we also wanted to prevent mass searches for the stones. We can’t risk it happening again.”

“Then how come I remember?” You asked. There was much more mystery surrounding you right now than you were comfortable with.

“That is an excellent question!” Thor said. “And since you don’t seem to have any answers for us yourself, we will simply have to add it to the pile of things we have to figure out.”

“I would like to have answers too, but right now, I’m so tired.” An involuntary yawn punctuated your words. “Pardon me.”

“Yes, of course.” Thor said. “Loki will take you to bed.”

“Absolutely not!” You screeched.

“Phrasing!” Loki snapped.

Thor looked like he was having a very hard time not laughing, which you didn’t appreciate at all. That was a terrifying prospect, and one you were not in the least willing to entertain. Loki looked perturbed as well, so at least you were both on the same page.

“I’m sorry, ____, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” A little laughter did escape him, fueling your annoyance. It wasn’t a laughing matter. Neither of these men had better start getting ideas. Just because they were divine rulers didn’t mean they could take liberties. You still had rights. Didn’t you?

“Buffoon.” Loki grumbled. “Come. I’ll see you to your room.”

You got to have your own room? That sounded promising. You followed along behind him, sleepy and quiet, swimming in the events of the day. It was all so much to take in, but maybe sleeping on it would help. Loki led you back to the set of rooms you’d earlier had your bath in, letting you inside and addressing the young man standing guard at the door. You couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the young man seemed mildly confused and upset. He kept shooting you curious looks, and eventually he patted you reassuringly on the shoulder, and nodded at you. Then he went into the smaller of the two bedrooms, gathered his things, and left. He even waved at you on his way out, as if he was trying to convey no hard feelings without being able to actually speak to you.

“Uh…Your Highness? Did I just kick that guy out of his room?” You asked, feeling very guilty.

“No.” Loki assured you. “These rooms are mine, and I decide who may use them, and for how long. There is room for him in our guardhouse, it was just more convenient for him to be close by. Now it is more convenient for you to be here.”

“Because we don’t know how far apart we can be, or for how long. I get it.” There wasn’t much in the room; a bed, a desk with a chair, a small dresser, and one window. The floor and walls were bare, and there was one lamp on the desk, but no other lights. Well, you didn’t need much right now, and you owned practically nothing here, not even the shirt on your back, so this was much better than you had feared it would be.

“I feel like we can probably have a respectable distance between us, just not miles, and certainly not an entire ocean. However, I also feel like we should sleep closer together. Partly for your own safety, and partly because it seems to me that the focus of this draining sickness was our mutual dreams. “

He took a seat in the chair while you crawled into the plain little bed.

“Will you tell me about them?” He asked. “I know we were both having dreams, and I think we were connected through them, but you said yours were nightmares. Mine were not. I wonder about the differences.”

“Ugh. They weren’t anything complicated, but they were always the same. There was this big blankness that I just wanted to sink into so that I could finally rest, but you wouldn’t let me. You just kept dragging me away, and you wouldn’t let me sleep. You were scary, and it was torture, not being able to rest.”

He nodded slowly, writing something down in a small notebook you were sure he hadn’t had just a second before.

“Mine were…similar, but the perspective was different. That void was death, and I was compelled to keep you from it.”

“Do you think we’ll still dream?” You asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Right. Can you, uh…”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He left, closing the door behind him. You might have heard the lock turn, but you were already drifting off.

                                                                      *********

The void beckoned you, a promise of rest and freedom, but now you knew it might not be as benign as it seemed. Loki clutched your arm, frightening with his horns and cold eyes, but now you knew he might not be as malign as he seemed. You spent the rest of your dream there, between two deceivers, not sure which one to choose.

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 3,200 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: Six months ago, Y/N runs into someone unexpected at the local bar while researching a case. For one night, she decides to forget and just try to be normal. Present day, Dean wants answers and Y/N isn’t sure how to explain herself. A/N: This is the fourth part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card series, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “ Don't we all. -happy sigh-”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “oof...this would give me feelings to hear from the lips of Dean Winchester”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “Ughhhh. Yep I want to go cry in a corner now.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

6 months earlier…

This bar is perfect. It's in the middle of nowhere, it's cheap, and so far not one person has tried to get my number or buy me a drink.

“Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?”

Never mind.

I take a deep breath then spin around to face the jackass that's ruining my perfect bar experience, “What makes you think-”

“Y/N?”

I should have recognized his voice, but I definitely recognize the green eyes sparkling in the dim light, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he realizes who he just tried to hit on.

“Dean?”

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” He looks like he’s trying to decide if he should do something, like give me a hug or a hearty pat on the arm, but ends up just jamming his hands into his pockets. I give him an awkward smile.

“Working a case, what about you?” I turn back to the bar and he slides onto the stool next to me.

“We just finished one, heard there might be something over this way so we figured we'd check it out before we went home.” He waves down the bartender and orders two more beers.

“I'm not even sure it is a case. Haven't been able to find much, I'm starting to think it's a thing for the locals to handle. I figure I'll do some more research in the morning, head out of it’s nothing.” I take a swig from my beer as he waves the bartender down. “We? Sam is here too?”

“Yea, he said he wanted to research and the bar would be too loud. The campus library is open late, so he's camping out there for the night.”

We fall silent, and I wish it didn't feel so awkward. There didn't used to be this...space. Now it feels like we are on two totally different tracks, speeding along next to each other but never actually crossing paths. Not even when we are sitting mere inches apart. I won't lie; the feeling sucks.

“It's been awhile. Why haven't you called?” I look over and he's fiddling with the label on his beer, pulling it off the bottle in tiny pieces like he's always done when he's nervous.

I shrug, “It’s been busy. Phones work two ways, you know.” I’ll just leave out the whole ‘cancer takes a lot of out of you’ part, and the bit where I shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with my pain medicine.

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat, “Listen, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything...about Bobby, about what...what I said.” His voice is quiet, but the apology packs a punch. Dean isn’t usually one to apologize, at least not easily.

“You weren’t the only one that said shitty things, Dean. It’s not like I offered you a fresh glass of sweet tea and invited you to sit on the porch with me so we could talk about our feelings.”

He chuckles and I finish my beer, sliding it down the bar as I grab the one Dean just bought for me. “I guess that’s true.” He sighs, “What happened to us? We were...we were good, weren’t we? You, me, and Sammy...we were the best.”

I glance over and really look at him for the first time since he’s sat down. He looks tired, his face more haunted than it was the last time I saw him. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and, considering he’s a Winchester, that’s probably not too far from the truth. He’s still handsome though; age has been kind to him. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I like it, other than it hides how strong his jawline is.

“You still are.”

He smiles sadly and shakes his head, “If you knew...I’m not the best, not anymore.”

Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm and he looks up at me, “Life happened to us, Dean. And it’s not like one of the monsters that we can hunt down and destroy. Life sneaks up and picks and pulls you apart, and every once in awhile it gives you a little glimmer of hope, of what could be. If you’re lucky, the glimmer turns into something more, but for people like us...that’s all it is. A hope of what could be, not what’s going to happen. We save people, but we don’t save ourselves.”

I stare at my hand on his arm and remember what we used to be like; best friends, inseparable as soon as John put me in the backseat of the Impala. It wasn’t fair of me to blame him for Bobby’s death, but I had been angry and hurt. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one that lost their father that day, not until it was too late, anyway. “You are a good man who has given up everything so that others don’t have to. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to understand that before.”

Dean softly places his hand on top of mine and squeezes, “You’ve given up a lot, too.” He clears his throat and straightens up on the barstool, his hand moving from mine to his beer. “I think we need something a little stronger than beer. Still a whiskey girl?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” I respond with a smile, grateful that the familiar comfort I used to feel with Dean seems to have returned.

“D-do you remember that time we stole Bobby’s truck and went into town, I don’t even remember what we were lookin’ for, but we left and didn’t tell him?” I stumble slightly, and Dean catches my arm.

“How can you not remember what we were lookin’ for? You decided you wanted to go see Titanic, and you talked my stupid ass into it!”

I snort, “Pshtttt, you know you wanted to see some Kate Winslet boobies, don’t even pretend.”

“I had to pretend to be your brother so you could get in! Lemme just add that as much as I may have wanted to see Kate Winslet boobs, I by no means wanted to see them with you sitting next to me.”

“Listen, you loved that movie. I saw you cry.”

“Tha’s...tha’s bullshit. I don’t cry over chick flicks, ‘specially not when I’m with someone else in a public theater.” He gives his head an emphatic shake, as if that’s going to drive his point home.

“HA!” I stop and poke him in the chest, “You said ‘especially’, which means you’re not above doin’ it alone. Dean Winchester has feelings.”

“Oh, I had feelings, just wasn’t ‘bout the movie.”

“See! You have feelings, you just ad..mitt….wait, what?” My finger is still on his chest, and he smirks down at me.

“Y’heard me.” His eyes are sparkling, and the mischievous look he used to have when we were young is back. It makes him look like a kid again, and it’s enough to make me ignore how badly this could end. I forget that my decision has made this an impossibility, and I shift my hand so that it lays flat against his chest. He’s warm, God, he’s so warm and I can feel his heart beating against my palm.

“You had feelings?”

His hands land on my waist and he pulls me flush against him. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his proximity, but my face feels hot as I stare up at him. “I never said they stopped.”

“Oh,” I breathe out, his words fuzzy and sharp at the same time. “I...d’ya want...I mean, my hotel room is jus’-” I don’t get a chance to finish my question because his lips are on mine and it’s like my entire brain short circuits. I would be lying if I said I never wanted to find out what this felt like. I assume any woman that looks at Dean wonders what it would be like.

I can promise you, there are no words to describe how it feels.

I can try. I can tell you that his lips are soft, softer than I could have ever imagined. He smells like gun oil and leather, with a hint of whiskey from our time at the bar. It reminds me of home, of riding in the backs of cars and learning how to fight, and how to care for people. He’s warm, even through all his layers it's radiating from him like a heater, and I can’t help but let my hands roam across his chest and down to the small of his back.

He pulls back and laughs softly and I take a moment to catch my breath. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think this can continue in public.” He shifts, and I am made aware as to why we should probably vacate the busy sidewalk.

“Come on, I think I can remedy that.” I grab his hand and start walking down the street again.

“Where are we going?”

“My hotel room, duh.” He laughs, and it’s like music to my ears. For the first time in a long time, everything feels...normal.

I’m not dying. We aren’t fighting monsters and evil, and we aren’t saving the world. We’re drunk, and we’re letting ourselves feel what normal people get to feel. It might just be a beautiful lie that we’re telling ourselves for this one night, but I don’t care. Because for once...for once it can just be us, and I don’t have to remember that it’s going to be short lived.

We stop in front of my motel room and I drunkenly dig through my pocket, but it’s made difficult by Dean grabbing me by the waist and pressing me against the wall next to the door.

“Dean, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I can’t…mmmm...I can’t get to my key.” His teeth graze my throat, right at my pulse, and I nearly melt. I can feel him smiling against me and I smack his arm. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Oh, I know.” He pulls back and lets me finally pull the key free, watching in amusement as I fumble it into the lock. “Know what else I know?”

I look back at him as the door swings open, “What?”

“I’m damn lucky we decided to stop in Omaha.” He picks me up and carries me into the room, slamming the door shut behind us with his foot.

He isn't the only lucky one.

Now…

It's the beeping that gets me, the incessant dinging of machines, whirring sounds and footsteps, and the never ending barrage of announcements over the intercom system that finally pulls me out of what feels like a coma. Then the smell takes over; a suffocating cloud of cleaners and sanitizers that I only ever encounter in hospitals.

My eyes slowly open to see a blurry form sitting in the chair next to me, chin against his chest as he breathes slowly in and out, the cadence making it obvious he's asleep. Sunlight is creeping through the long, vertical blinds, and the television is turned to some daytime talk show rerun.

“Oh, you're awake!” I roll my head towards the door and see a smiling nurse walk through it and watch as she checks whatever machines I'm hooked to. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“Sorry…” I don't know what else to say.

“Aww, honey, you don't need to be sorry. I'm just glad to see you're awake. I think he will be, too. He's refused to leave this entire time. Not even the threat of a security escort seemed to phase him.”

I look back over at Dean, who's shifted enough so that his head is tilted against the back of the chair, his mouth hanging open. “That sounds about right.” I struggle to sit up more, and she hurries over.

“Here, let me give you a hand. I'm going to call your doctor, she said she needs to have a little chat with you.” Her face falls slightly as she smooths out the blanket, then she clears her throat and suddenly the smile is back, “I'll be right back.”

“Wait…”

She turns to look at me, “Yes?”

“How long have I been out?”

Her smile disappears again and a crease appears between her brows, “Four days.” She disappears around the corner quickly as if she wants to avoid any other questions and I sigh. Four days.

I grab for the remote, but for a second it's like my hands forget how to do their job, like my brain isn't connected to them, so I juggle it for a second before it slips out of my hand and hits the floor with a crash. Dean jerks upright in his chair.

“What?! What the hell?” It takes a minute for his brain to register where he is and what made the noise, and I watch his eyes come into focus as he stares at me. “You're awake.”

“Yea…” I can feel tubing pressing against my nose and I reach up to pull it off. Dean leans over and puts his hand over mine, gently pushing my hand down to the bed.

“Leave it, they just got you stable enough to use that instead of a mask.” He leans back and watches me, but stays quiet. He looks like he’s thinking about what to say; I know he has a lot of questions, and I’m afraid of what he’ll ask first. I also wonder what he already knows, and how he’s managed to get in here and stay for such an extended amount of time.

“How’d you manage to not get kicked out?”

“Told ‘em we were married, that we were on our honeymoon.”

I would laugh, but I know it’s going to hurt. Judging by the look on his face, it probably isn’t wise anyway. “What about Sam?”

“Told ‘em he lives nearby and that we were visiting him. He’s getting coffee right now.” He crosses his arms, “It was a little harder to explain all the bruises, and why you were pumped full of painkillers before you got here. And the massive amount of blood you were coughing up, see that was the hardest one, because they just assume a husband would know his wife’s medical history.”

“Well, we aren’t actually married-”

“Nope, I’m gonna stop you right there.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and the look of betrayal on his face makes it incredibly hard to look him in the eye. “We are family, Y/N. I get that maybe I want more than that, and that you aren't ready for it. That's fine, but you are still my family. We are supposed to take care of each other. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, and you lying about this...it could have gotten any of us killed. You realize this, right? I should have realized at the hotel something was wrong...I should know the difference between lipstick and blood.”

“Dean…”

“Listen, I’m not...I’m not angry. I feel like I should be, but I’m not. I just want to understand why you didn’t think you could trust me with this. Why did you not let us help you?”

“It’s difficult to explain-”

“Hello, Y/N.” I recognize the voice before I even turn to face whoever interrupted me.

“Hey, doc.”

She walks around to the end of the bed, clipboard in hand, and glances over at Dean, “This is your husband?” I swallow nervously; she knows I’m not married. It’s not been that long since I’ve seen her. The look in her eyes is a soft accusation, but when I nod in confirmation, she gives him a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you.” She looks down at the chart and when she looks back up, I can see it on her face. “I think you probably know what I’m going to tell you, but I’m guessing he’d like to know what’s going on, and I think you need to know exactly how bad this is.”

That’s the one thing about her that I like; she’s straightforward, no bullshit. She somehow knows that Dean has no idea what’s going on, and I’m simultaneously impressed and terrified. He was never supposed to know about this. I was going to go out hunter style, a blaze of bloody glory. I was alone. Why didn’t I just stay alone?

“Your cancer has spread. It’s no longer just in one lung and the lymph nodes on that side, it’s in both, which is why you began to cough up so much blood. Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. Your body is exhausted, and it’s starting to give up. Without treatment…” she trails off and looks at Dean, who looks like he’s about to be sick. “Even with treatment, it will simply be done to keep you comfortable, though it may prolong your life slightly. Without treatment, your time is very limited. I’m...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, but...I chose this. I knew what was going to happen.”

She nods, then gently pats my blanketed leg, “I’m going to go, give you some time to decide.” She looks at Dean one last time, then walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I drop my head back against the pillows and close my eyes. Shit.

“Cancer?” His voice is quiet, but rough with held back tears. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter; I can’t look at him.

“Dean, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Omaha...I didn’t…”

“What are you going to do?” I look at him sharply, but he’s looking down at his hands instead of me.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up, and his eyes are even brighter from the tears he’s fighting against. It hurts more than anything else he could even say. “Are you going to do treatment, or no?”

I swallow thickly, knowing he’s not going to like the answer. I don’t like the answer, but it’s for the best. “I’m tired, Dean. I’m tired and broken, and I can’t drag this out longer. I just can’t. I don’t want to waste away in some bed somewhere, knowing that I’m just putting off the inevitable. I want to go home...I want to spend time with you and Sam, I want to save as many people as I can before it’s over. I just...I wanna go home.”

He blinks, then rubs a palm roughly against his eyes as he stands up, “Okay, well, let’s bust you out of here then. I’m gonna go talk to the nurse. I’ll...I’ll be back to get you. If Sammy comes back while I’m gone, let him know where I went.” He walks out of the room without another word.

I lay back and close my eyes, and I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Read Part 5 HERE.

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here!

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[milleniumhan]

Never coming home. // Peter Parker Fanfiction. // Part I.

Summary: Enemies to friends to lovers, that is all I have to say.

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker.

Warnings: It gets more emotional than I expected. I might have cried a little bit while I wrote this. 

A smol-lil note: Hi guys! I haven’t written in sooo long! I’m so happy to finally be feeling inspired again! I thought I would post this before I start working full-time and have less time to write for you :( <3 This is the first part of many, please let me know if you would like to be part of the tag-list! I really hope you like it and please let me know if you do. ABIG thank you to all the people who reblog and give feedback, it helps a ton! More than you know! Alright, I’ll let you be now. <3 -K

Part one: Your ghosts. 

[7:30 am: Sunny borough of Queens, NY.]

You looked out the window to inspect the weather. There were some clouds, but the sky was a particular shade of blue that was noticeable enough to make it feel like Summer was finally invading. Looking up at it almost made you feel...infinite. You took a deep breath which filled every corner of your soul with the fresh, bittersweet scent that the lemon trees surrounding your building emanated, making you smile. It was yet another small reminder that everything was okay.

You had gotten up early for school, for once, making you able to have a real, hearty breakfast. The first one in a long time. You even managed to walk to school, instead of taking the bus, grabbing a cup of coffee at your favorite café on the way.

This, however, was not the case for Mr. Peter Parker.

[8:00 am: In another-not so distant-building in Queens, NY.]

Peter rolled around in his bed, running a sloppy hand through his hair. He stretched his limbs out as far as he could as he gently rubbed the slumber out of his eyes. A yawn or two were in place as well. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying hard to make the sensation of lethargy go away from his body. His bones ached and his muscles burned. Being a part-time vigilante had proven to take a toll on him, even if he had the ability to recover quickly. When he finally started to make sense of what was going on he turned to the alarm clock: Late, again.

“wHAT-OH, COME ON!” He raced out of bed and quickly put on his pants, not taking any mind of the red and blue suit that still covered his body. He rushed to the bathroom and put his hair in place, or at least attempted to. As he brushed his teeth, he examined himself on the mirror out of the corner of his eye and notices a small scratch across his right cheek. A battle wound to remember last night by. “I don’t have time for this, it’ll go away soon anyway” he thought to himself as he spit on the sink and continued to dash through the small apartment.

Peter ran through his usual route without any sign of stopping, he was determined to get to school no matter what.  trying to get to the spot where he usually met with Ned as fast as he could and praying to the god he was still there. Peter felt relieve come out of his body in the form of a desperate exhale when he turned the corner and found his best friend, the guy in the chair, standing there, waiting patiently. Ned turned around at the heavy sound of steps.

“Dude!” he half-shouted

“I know, I know late, I’m sorry Ned.” Peter started, already thinking about a million excuses for his tardiness.

“Dudeee!” Ned said again, this time louder and with wide eyes.

Peter stared back at him, confused as ever.

“Cover yourself up before someone sees you!” the alarm in Ned’s voice growing more and more by the second.

Peter looked down at himself, trying to figure out what he meant. The suit was showing underneath his hoodie. He had forgotten to put on a shirt. “Fuck” he whispered as he zipped the outerwear all the way up, hoping that would work.

“Ned” Peter started as he made his way next to his companion “What the hell would I do without you?”

“You would die, probably” Ned responded, only half-joking.

-

[8:30 am: Midtown School of Science and Technology. Oh boy, high school.]

You waited patiently for MJ on the steps just outside the school. You sighed, unsettled, as you looked around and didn’t see her. She was never late. “I guess there’s always a first time for everything” you reasoned. You waited a little bit longer before looking around once more, this time your eyes stumbled upon Peter’s, both of you turning away as fast as possible. You rolled your eyes at yourself. “Peter-freaking-Parker” you huffed. Just as you exhaled those words, MJ appeared behind you, letting her presence be known by the chuckle she immediately let out.

“What’s the deal with you and Parker?” she said in a nonchalant, almost sneering manner. Her sudden appearance making you jump.

“Hey, MJ. Nice of you to show up.”

MJ rolled her eyes before signaling the entrance. You both started walking into school and to your lockers.

“Don’t try to change the subject. There’s always this unspoken tension between you and Peter and it’s driving me nuts. You are so competitive with each other too, and I know that also annoys everyone in the team, even Flash, and he’s an asshole.” You paused for a second, trying to find a dumb excuse, a way to get out of this by revealing as little information as possible.

“I just don’t like him” you finally blurted out with a small shrug and continued walking over the shiny hallway tiles. MJ gave you a skeptical look to which you replied with another shrug.

“Really? That’s the best you got?” you raised your eyebrows in compliance with your own lie. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out eventually”  MJ finished with a wink and an evil smirk before turning around and leaving you standing there, dumbfounded and afraid of what she was up to.  

-

The bell rang: Finally, lunch break. You sighed with relief as you left for the cafeteria, you only had two more classes left and nothing had happened yet. You had been on edge the whole day, especially whenever MJ and Peter would interact, which was pretty much all the time since you all had the same classes. You kept trying to control your raging thoughts, hoping MJ didn’t really mean anything by what she had said earlier.

After waiting in line for your food, you made your way to the same table you always sat at next to MJ. Usually, at this time of day, MJ and you would have lunch in silence as you both read whichever book you were on that week, but not this time. The first thing you noticed was how MJ didn’t have a book by her side. The second, more alarming thing, was that she was seated next to Peter.

“What’s going on?” you said in a stronger tone than you had hoped, glancing towards Peter and then back at MJ.

“Well, as official captain of the decathlon team, I thought we needed to have a bit of a meeting.”

“What, right now?”

“Mm-hm” MJ simply replied, derisive as ever. “We won’t be able to do it after class since they are closing the library early today, so we might as well do it now.”

You stared at her intently, trying to figure out what she was doing. “Well, what about the rest of the team?” you said as you carefully placed down your tray on the table.

“Oh, they are the reason I am here.” Even though MJ sounded serious, the stupid grin on her face told you otherwise. “The team came to me, telling me that they are having a lot of trouble studying with you guys.”

“I-I don’t understand” Peter finally spoke for the first time since you had arrived “What’s that supposed to mean?” You glanced over at MJ, the same question in mind.

“Well, they are a bit concerned with how you treat each other and how it’s been affecting the team, and frankly, I can’t blame them. You are always coming at each other, interrupting lessons just to say something snarky about one another and constantly competing to see who knows the most, which is not what teams are about.” You could tell MJ was really being serious now.

A scoff left both Peter’s mouth and yours as you both crossed your arms and pouted like children being scolded.

“So, what are you saying?” You said, still with your arms crossed.

“Well, the team and I came thought of a way you could make it up to us.” The smirk creeping back to MJ’s face. “You will both get together, study the material and come up with the questions for the next team meeting. The team depends on the questions to perform well on the actual competition, so, no pressure.”

“WHAT? ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Peter couldn’t contain his shock, but before any of you could keep on protesting, MJ got up and left for class as the bell started to ring. You both sat there until it stopped ringing, looking at each other in what seemed to be a mixture of awe and hate.

-

After school you started to head home, still mad at MJ and not being able to grasp the concept of spending time with Peter, more than you already did anyway. You felt a bit foolish, you knew you shouldn’t hate Peter, what happened between you was a long time ago and you didn’t like to hold grudges, but he was clearly mad at you as well and you just couldn’t help it. After a while of swimming in your own thoughts, you decided to turn around and head for Peter’s apartment, maybe you could finally resolve this...plus, you really needed to start studying for decathlon. You walked through the streets of Queens, your feet knowing the way to his place by heart, you used to go there so often before after all. Right before you entered his building, you decided to take a detour to the store next to it and buy him some gummies, take it as a gift of reconciliation if you will. When you finally got to his door, you took a deep breath as you got the courage to knock on the door. Before your knuckles could so much as brush the piece of wood in front of you, you were met with a breathless Peter Parker. You exchanged glances before you looked down and noticed his hoodie was unzipped, revealing the red and blue vigilante suit underneath it. Your eyes opened wide with awe, a gasp leaving your mouth before your mind could even process what you were looking at.

Tag-list babes, PLEASE READ: If you are part of my permanent tag-list, first of all, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart <3, and second of all, please, PLEASE let me know if you only want to be exclusively tagged on ST content/fics. I will be posting from various fandoms, so I really need to know. If you don’t message me/comment/let me know, I will just assume you are okay with me tagging you in other non-ST related things. Thank you very much. <3

@ambeazyyy @ditchthesticks @javapeach @justrunawayoftheshit @missnena2194 @steveharringtonofficial @tobarblog @theroyalbrownbarbie @lilo-1398 @ayatimascd

[hellomissmabel]

We are your family

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Stucky x plus size!reader

Warnings: cheating, hinting towards self harm and a polyamorous relationship (this is not my usual jam but the story is open to interpretation. With this story I felt comfortable writing it from this particular point of view, but I won’t write this subject again I think). Platonic love between Steve and Y/N. Romantic love between Bucky and Y/N and Bucky and Steve. Basically, everybody loves Steve.

Word count: 1.768

Summary: When Y/N broke up with her long-term boyfriend Colin Shea after he cheated on her, she was in a very bad place until she fell in love with Bucky. Steve and Bucky have been talking about kids for a long time now but things always got in their way. Flashforward to 2 years later, Y/N is moved in with Bucky and Steve and they’re ready to take the next big step in their relationship, a baby.

A/N: I’ve posted a masterlist with all upcoming plus size!reader fics. I keep getting new ideas, so this masterlist will be updated as the ideas come and go. There will always be an announcement post. If you want on the tag list, please comment on the announcement post of send me an ask!

Dedicated to @mrshopkirk. Sarah is @iwishyouwouid, Lisa is @heartmade-writingbucky and Emily is @emilyevanston

All plus size fics can be found here

“So how are your new roommates?”

“Ugh, they’re amazing,” you sigh into the phone, drawing a small laugh from your best friend. “A big improvement!”

“I bet they are,” Sarah chuckles knowingly, “You broke up two years ago, Y/N. It was about time you moved out. Also, Lisa wanted me to tell you that Emily moved out, too.”

“Yeah, they told me during our weekly coffee chat. Lately Colin’s been pushing everyone’s buttons. He’s gone on a late night drag three times in a row now.”

Your best friend scoffs and you can imagine her eyerolling from the other end of the phone. “Anyway, about my roommates,” you speak animatedly, twirling around the kitchen as you hold your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, making sure you don’t drop it as you prepare your lunch.

“They are really sweet and when I moved in they held this kind of housewarming party with the entire team. You remember Bucky, right?”

“Let me guess, he’s tall, dark and handsome? Exactly your type?,” Sarah pokes you gently. Juggling three oranges in your hands, you carefully place them on the counter so you can prepare some orange juice later for yourself and your roommates.

“Shut up, Sarah. Sounds to me you’re describing that actor you’re currently crushing on. What’s his face again? Oh, yeah, Sebastian Stan,” you playfully jab back as you heat up the waffle iron. “So Bucky is the guy with the metal arm,” you comment casually, the lively tone to your words prompting a hearty laugh from your friend.

Since you finally pulled the plug on your miserable post-break-up life with Colin and moved in with your boyfriend at Stark Tower, Bucky is all you’ve been talking about. Sarah is actually one of the few people that are in the loop about your special arrangement with Bucky and Steve and she supports your decision, even though it was a bit of a shock at first. She would’ve never have pegged you as the type.

“Every Sunday he gets up early to make us pancakes. And Steve always makes me a cup of tea before bed.”

“Uhu, sounds like a real dreamboat to me,” Sarah confirms softly when you’re struggling with the batter for your waffles, eventually getting it right by adding some more milk to the mixture. “But I still can’t believe you’re actually living at Stark Tower now, with the Avengers, sharing an apartment with Captain America. Even if you and Bucky have been dating for a while now.”

“They helped me back on my feet, Sarah. I was a real mess after Colin and I broke up. He cheated on me with a model he picked up on one of those parties he got invited to. Do you realise how ridiculous that made me look?”

You sigh softly, running your free hand over your face in reminiscence. “I’m a plus size girl with a hot boyfriend who just happens to be an up-and-coming musician, which was already a big enough scandal because God forbid a handsome man is in love with a girl that isn’t a size two!”

“I’d still be heartbroken and pining over Colin if I didn’t spill my pumpkin spice latte all over Bucky. I’d still be miserable and living at his place, suffering through countless nights of loud sex and beautiful girls moaning his name. I’d still hate my body and harm myself if it wasn’t for Bucky and Steve,” you jump to their defence, pouring the batter in the waffle iron with a sad smile.

The first two waffles are usually a bit of a hit and miss, so you quickly throw them in the garbage bin and make yourself a second pair of golden-brown waffles. As they are sizzling in the iron, you lean against the kitchen cupboards and take a sip of your coffee.

“Yeah, I know, sweetie, I know…”

You bake a neat pile of waffles while you continue to gush about your roommates to your best friend. Another half hour passes and you feel your phone bill tugging at your wallet, so you promise Sarah to call her same time next week.

“Sarah?,” you ask her, your tone suddenly turning serious. “About their proposal… You think I should say yes? I mean, Bucky is just the best boyfriend ever and Steve is… well, he’s Steve Rogers!”

“Y/N, you obviously trust Bucky. You’ve also already seen each other naked, so it won’t be awkward. But it’s a big step and it’ll change your entire life.”

With great care your arrange the table, making sure it looks nice and tidy before you cut the oranges for the orange juice. “Yeah, I know. But I feel like I’m ready. And Bucky and Steve will be there for me, too, of course.”

You’ve just finished dividing it over three glasses when Steve enters the apartment, drops of sweat glistening on his forehead from his morning workout session at the park.

“Good morning, Stevie!,” you greet the blond with a casual wave. “I gotta go, Sarah. Steve has arrived,” you say goodbye to Sarah.

“Good morning, Y/N!,” he replies with a beaming smile as he pecks your cheek and heads for the shower.

“I’ve prepared breakfast!,” you shout after him, grounding some more coffee for when Bucky comes back home from his mission. He’s been gone all night and even though he told you not to worry, that it’s just standard procedure and nothing bad will happen, you can’t help but concerned.

Over the sound of the shower, you can hear Steve yell a sincere thank you. “You are an absolute doll, Y/N.”

Not long after Steve has emerged from the shower and the coffee is ready, Bucky joins the two of you. He looks exhausted, dark circles hugging his red-rimmed baby blues. Bucky rubs his eyes and smiles softly as he sees all the effort you’ve made to put together a cosy breakfast.

“You shouldn’t have, babe,” he thanks you as he kisses the tip of your nose before sitting down.

Steve secures his towel around his waist and wanders to the kitchen table, taking a seat opposite Bucky. You sit down on the empty chair next to the brunet and he snakes his metal arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “I’ve got something to tell you,” you announce softly after clearing your throat.

The table falls silent, Steve pausing mid-bite and looking at you in great anticipation. Bucky is the one to break the silence first, albeit involuntarily, as a small moan slips past his lips as he tastes your homemade waffles. “Sorry babe but these are amazing!,” he chuckles as he takes another forkful.

“It’s okay, you dork,” you say as you bump his nose. “So I first wanna say that I love you guys and that I’m really happy I moved in. So after much thought and consideration...”

The tension is palpable and before you speak again, Bucky gently rests his right hand on your knee. “I asked you because I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he says sincerely as he squeezes your knee.

“First as a little sister when you were at your worst and we nurtured you back to health. Then as a friend when you started dating Bucky and now…” Steve releases a deep sigh, searching your eyes.

“You know that my feelings for you… they transcend the boundaries of a normal friendship. I care so much about you, Y/N. You are smart, beautiful and funny. You are my dream woman and that’s why I’m asking you to be the mother of our child.”

“Oh Steve,” you blush lightly as more words of praise reach your ears. Bucky chimes in, telling you how he, too, has come to love you just as much. Both men voice their love for you and it makes your heart grow warm and fuzzy.

“But I’m nothing special,” you chuckle softly, “I’m just a girl with curves.”

“No, Y/N,” Steve immediately interjects, “You’re a gorgeous full-figured woman and I can’t imagine a better mother.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” you smile kindly at him. “But you don’t need to convince me anymore. My answer is yes. Yes, I want to have a baby with you and Bucky.”

Bucky bursts out in happy laughter, hugging you affectionately as soon as you’ve said those last words. Steve joins Bucky in his endeavour and wraps his arms around you, too. “I’m kinda nervous, though. I really want a baby but I’m so anxious I won’t get pregnant. I don’t wanna disappoint you guys. The baby will share Bucky’s genes and mine…”

You turn your head and your gaze crosses Steve’s baby blues. “But it’ll be your baby, too, Steve.”

“You will never disappoint us, Y/N,” Steve whispers into your hair before pecking the crown of your head and kneeling next to you, his eyes still locked with yours. “Yes, genetically the baby will be yours and Bucky’s. But that doesn’t mean I won’t love it any less.”

“I’ve always wanted a child so bad. You know, a family of my own,” you whisper through the happy tears trickling down your cheeks. “And I thought that Colin would be the one for me but then he cheated on me and I saw my dream vanish into thin air, to the point I completely obliterated myself just to please him…”

Your breath hitches in your throat and Bucky’s tender lips kiss your temple, rocking you softly. “He can’t hurt you anymore, love. You don’t have to go back. You’ve got us now, honey,” Bucky assures you, smiling down at you. “We are your family.”

“We’re in this together, Y/N,” Steve adds to Bucky’s pledge as he presses his forehead to yours. “We love you so much, doll.”

It’s unconventional, this little family of yours, but it feels so right. Bucky has always loved you and Steve fits into your world so perfectly you honestly can’t remember a time you didn’t know him. But Steve is still Captain America and the world looks up to him, so it won’t be easy to keep your relationship away from prying eyes.

Bucky has already vowed to cut back on missions once you’re with child, and he will retire as soon as the baby is born so he can devote all this time and his full attention to your little one. Meanwhile, Steve will gently ease the public into the thought of Captain America passing the shield along to someone equally worthy so that in the end, all three of you can watch your baby grow up.

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean67 @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @beyondbarnes @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @riskybarnes @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @mizzzpink @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24

Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @jughead-wuz-here @jasmineladjevardi @sonofadeanwinchester @3dsaunt @marvel-at-bucky @nothin-after-79 @sexy-sea-basss @shesmade0fcandy @breezy1415 @wtfisalltherandoms @mrs-dr-strange @disneymarina @secondsandstars @brandybucky

We are your family tag list: @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @iamwarrenspeace @hi-my-name-is-riley @georgiagrl1990 @magellan-88 @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @mo320 @imsupernaturalbaby @wolverinesgirl14 @dsny87 @kudosia @wildestdreamsrps @s7sense @jesspfly @chubisgirl @peppermint-teas

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you!

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Perfect Strangers Part II-Loki Laufeyson Imagine

Requested: Yes

Warnings: angst and fluff

Tags: @assgardstark

   The Avengers’ eyes were all trained on Y/N, who stood at the head of the conference room, shifting her weight from one combat boot to the other. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at any of them mostly due to her own shame and also, she didn’t really know how to explain herself.

    “Any time, Agent Y/L/N,” Fury said from his post near the entrance door.

    “Right.” Y/N took a deep breath. “I’ve always known that I was...different from other people. Most of of my life, I was in and out of hospitals because I would go into seizure-like episodes but the doctors could never help me.” She swallowed thickly, opting to glance at each Avengers’ forehead rather than look them in the eye as she spoke. “One day, someone pulled a nasty trick on me in middle school, and I think it triggered my powers because at night, I wound up in a library in Asgard, where I met Loki.”

    Thor leaned forward in his seat at her words while the rest of the team members remained either neutral or reclined in their seats, their interest remaining in Y/N’s tale.

    “Only Loki was in the library at the time?” Thor asked.

     “Yes.”

     “What happened when you met him?” Steve asked.

     “He...he helped me begin to cope with getting bullied and for the first time, I didn’t feel like a freak. I only had one friend at the time, but she could never understand what I went through, but Loki did and it was nice. Anyway, he helped me figure out how I could use my powers to get home and I never saw him again,” Y/N said.

     “Until today,” Steve said.

     “Yeah.” Y/N glanced at Thor, who seemed less than pleased with her tale.        “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Tony asked.

      Y/N shrugged. “It’s not the easiest thing to bring up and I didn’t want to be linked with someone so evil. Thor can back me up when I say that he wasn’t always evil----arrogant, yes, but he used to be kind.”

      Steve, Tony, and Bruce glanced at the golden-haired god of thunder who slowly nodded. “Lady Y/N is right. My brother is capable of doing good, but I don’t know what happened. However, it doesn’t change what you have done here, Y/N.”

      Y/N’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “What?”

     “You’ve broken my trust in you and possibly the rest of the team’s,” Thor said. 

      “I understand that and I’m sorry, but, as I said, there wasn’t really a time or place for me to tell anyone appropriately.”

      “We could’ve used you to get intel on him,” Fury said.

       Y/N shook her head. “Thor would have been more useful----Loki hasn’t seen me in fifteen years!”

      “Yet he was more open with you than he was with me down there,” Thor said.

       Y/N stiffened and let Thor’s words sink in. Loki seemed to enjoy toying with Thor more than divulging any of his plans to him and though he had tried the same thing with Y/N, he still revealed some of his plans albeit in a disrespectful way. There was no way that Loki held Y/N in a higher regard than he did Thor even though it seemed that at a young age, Loki had a bit of a distaste for his brother.

         “For the time being, you’re dismissed, Agent Y/L/N, until we decide what to do with you,” Fury said.

        “Yes, Sir.” Y/N nodded her head and hurried out of the room. 

        Slowly, she made her way to her own quarters and as soon as the door closed behind her, she let the tears she had been holding back since she saw Loki, fall down her cheeks. These tears were a mix of frustration, confusion, and anger. Y/N had a feeling that it wasn’t the best thing for her to keep her past with Loki a secret, but she didn’t think it would put her in danger of being dismissed from the Avengers or even SHIELD itself. She wished that she had told Thor as soon as possible that she’d met Loki when she first traveled through dimensions. She wished that she’d never confronted Max about that stupid note in front of his entire table. She wished that Professor Xavier had reached out to her before Fury did and helped her gain control of her powers earlier. Dejectedly, she wished that she had never been born at all. 

        “Stupid powers,” Y/N muttered as she slid down her door to sit down. “Never did anything right or useful.” 

        Stop it, Loki’s voice echoed through her head.

       Y/N bolted upright and whirled around to face the door. There was no one there. Maybe she was finally losing it.

       You are as sane as ever, Y/N, I’m speaking to you through my mind, Loki said.

        She began to shake her head. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Get out of my head,” she griped.

         It sounds like I should stay seeing as what you were thinking. If you had told my brother about us, he would not have trusted you as easily and you would not be as close as you are now, Loki said.

         “You’re not supposed to be able to do this. The...the chamber is supposed to---”

         While this infernal contraption does weaken my powers, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry, I can’t escape by myself any time soon, Loki said.

         Y/N had to do something. She should call for Fury, Thor, Steve, Natasha, anyone really.

        You will do no such thing, Y/N. Listen to me: if you hadn’t been bullied and if someone who knew how to help you found you earlier, you would have never met me and that would have been awful. Loki sounded a lot more serious than he had before.

       “How?” Y/N whispered. “How could it have been any worse than it is now?”

        Because I never would have met you and meeting you was, perhaps, the best thing that ever happened to me. You were my first friend and I did not have to fight over you with Thor, he said. 

       No, he did not get to make this romantic, he did not get to get a rise out of Y/N, he did not get to mess around in her head like this. Y/N didn’t notice her body begin to vibrate lightly nor did she take note of the flash of light. She did notice that all she saw was red when she realized she was back in the prison unit and Loki was standing in front of her. The few agents on guard tried to come at her, but they were too slow as Y/N marched over to Loki. 

      “Stop acting as though meeting me had any sort of effect on you,” Y/N hissed. “If it did, you wouldn’t have tried to destroy the Bifrost in Asgard or take over my planet. You would have tried to keep a good relationship with Thor and not let any petty sibling jealousy get in the way!”       Loki did not appear surprised at Y/N’s blazing y/e/c eyes nor at her bared teeth. He did not seem too amused either, but rather sincere and tender as he took a step towards the chemical glass that separated them. “That is where you are wrong, Y/N, because if I hadn’t met you, this would all be far worse.”

      She hated the sincerity in his eyes that said that he was telling the truth and she hated how much her old feelings from fifteen years ago were beginning to claw at her heart.

       “Agent Y/L/N,” Fury called. “Step away from Loki.”

      “Stay out of my head,” Y/N hissed.

      She turned on her heel and followed Fury into the elevator.

     “You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve for coming down here after that meeting,” Fury said.

      “He needed to know that he couldn’t mess around in my head any longer.”

       Fury paused for a long time and didn’t speak until the elevators opened onto the main floor. There, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and Thor along with about half of the SHIELD agents stood.

      “We’ve agreed on what to do with you, Y/N,” Fury said.

      He and Y/N stepped out of the elevator together and Y/N tossed a nervous glance in Steve’s direction.

      “You are a loyal member to SHIELD and to the Avengers. We reviewed the conversation and you never showed a sign of wanting to join Loki and his men,” Steve said. “Therefore, we agreed that we wish for you to remain a member of the Avengers.”

       Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Me? An Avenger? But, I wouldn’t know how---”

       “We’re still figuring this out, too, might as well add someone new to the mix,” Tony said. 

       Y/N couldn’t fight the grin that worked its way onto her mouth. “Thank you so much, Steve, I mean Captain, you won’t regret it.” 

      “Steve is fine, Agent Y/L/N,” he said with a kind smile.

      The rest of the team congratulated Y/N as well, but Natasha added that they would begin training as soon as possible. Training with a world class assassin like Natasha was never high up on Y/N’s list of things she always wanted to do, but if it was necessary to keep her on the team, she would go with it. The team began to separate----Bruce and Tony headed up to the lab, Steve and Fury went to strategize, and Natasha headed towards the gym, leaving Y/N with Thor. 

      “Congratulations on becoming one of us, Y/N,” Thor said.

      “Thanks. I’m sorry again for not telling you about Loki. It was weird thinking about him as the teenage boy I stumbled upon in Asgard all those years ago and I knew you and he were going through a tough time when I met you,” Y/N said. “Still, I should’ve told you sooner. Is there anyway you could forgive me?”

        Thor kept a thoughtful expression on his face for a moment, which made Y/N a little nervous. “In time, I suppose I can forgive you.”

      �� Y/N grinned and couldn’t stop herself from hugging her giant friend. He let out of a hearty laugh as he returned the hug. “Try not to crush me.”

       “I would never do that...on purpose.”

       Y/N pulled away and playfully swatted his arm, making him laugh even harder. They slowly began walking away, making the SHIELD agents that had crowded around before return to their original assignments. 

      “Lady Y/N, may I be honest with you?” Thor asked.

      “Of course.” 

       “After Loki met you, he seemed happier and a bit more outgoing. When I asked him about it, he made up a strange excuse, but now I think that you’re the reason he changed during that time.” 

       “It must not have lasted too long.”

       “Perhaps. I wonder what would have happened if you met me instead of him that night.”

      “You’d probably make me fight you or threaten me with prison.”

     “Probably.”

     In that moment, it seemed that all was right again in the world but it was actually far from it. In the back of her mind, Y/N knew this but chose to ignore it. Late that night, she sensed someone in her room even though she was in a deep sleep. Suddenly, she was torn away from her dream as she sat up straight, staring at Loki, who stood at the foot her bed. He was wearing his royal robes, complete with the horned headpiece and a staff. He simply radiated evil and Y/N cringed away from him.

      “What are you doing here?” Y/N asked.

      “A king simply can’t rule without his queen.” He extended his hand towards her. “Join me, Y/N, and rule over this planet with me.”

     His words were sweet and inviting, but he wasn’t trying to control her or manipulate her, which he had done to Clint. Loki was simply asking her to join him, to forget that she had just made things right with her friends and join him. She should’ve screamed at him, attacked him, and called for reinforcements, but she didn’t. Y/N only sat in her bed and stared at him in shock. Her choice was obvious, so why wasn’t she speaking? 

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 49. Second Anniversary

Let’s start with the destination: New Zealand. Again.

Yes, this is our third time here in just 8 months, but what can I say: it’s a great country. Actually, I’m not sure any country better reflects Chelsay and I than New Zealand. The US seems angry these days, Asian cultures are a bit rigid, and Europe… Please. But New Zealand: adventurous, easy going, and a sense of humor. That’s Chelsay and I in a nutshell!

New Zealand is the geographic embodiment of Chelsay and I’s relationship, and that’s why it’s the perfect place to celebrate our second anniversary.

Now, my last post ended with a teaser for our return to the UK, but that’s turned into a longer process than expected. In the words of my boss: “No country moves slower than the UK.” ...Yep, I remember.

That doesn’t mean Chelsay and I have been idle though. A few bullets on our past two months in limbo:

We discovered our “Richmond Park” equivalent, with weekend walks up the Northern Beaches: Freshwater, Curl Curl, and Dee Why.

 I had a quick work trip to San Francisco. I can’t even remember the business purpose – I think it was to recreate scenes from Vertigo.

Chelsay and I finally explored some famous Sydney neighborhoods we hadn’t visited, Palm Beach and Watson’s Bay.

We ran the City 2 Surf, along with 80,000 other Sydneysiders.

We started horse riding. This has been a dream of Chelsay’s for a while, and that enthusiasm shows in her riding: through just three lessons, she’s already trotting with ease. Meanwhile, Mike is a bit behind, though in fairness, I’m at a disadvantage. The stable’s typical clientele is primarily young girls (not a lot of 30 year old men learning to ride), so they only have one horse for someone my size, Jazz. One problem: Jazz is blind in one eye. While Chelsay is trotting in circles around the arena, I’m battling a blind horse to avoid running into a wall.

Chelsay nearly burned the house down while cooking. We can laugh about it now, but at the time: this was catastrophic. I’ll just say that the situation required me to burst out of the shower to help.

Anyway, we’ve stayed busy, and after a demanding few months at work, we were ready for a vacation. Our September anniversary falls in winter in the Southern Hemisphere, so Chelsay and I decided we’d take advantage by making this year’s celebration a ski trip. Crisp air and hot chocolate: very romantic.

New Zealand has two hubs for skiing: Queenstown and Wanaka. They’re fairly close to one another but are drastically different. Queenstown is beautifully set below The Remarkables, but can feel a bit crowded in peak season. On the other hand, Wanaka has an equally beautiful setting, but is much quieter and basically only has one street. Ultimately we went with Wanaka because we’re old people… and also because it’s closer to Treble Cone, whose advanced runs better suited Chelsay & I’s “gnar shredding”.

We arrived late on the first day, driving through some beautiful yet brooding landscapes.

We got really lucky with our hotel. I’d mentioned that we were celebrating our anniversary, and they upgraded us to a suite. The extra space was critical after long days on the pistes. One side note on the hotel room: while Chelsay and I were enjoying our Night 1 chacuterie, we had a strange feeling: we were in shorts. Indoors. And not freezing… Why did it feel so strange? My god, is this what it’s like to be… warm!?  It was tangibly strange to us to feel warm! Our Sydney apartment had been so consistently cold all winter, that we were genuinely perplexed with a temperature about 55. Suite life got this trip off to a hot start.

The next day we hit the slopes. Treble Cone doesn’t have any accommodation, so it’s a short, steep, unpaved, cliff-side, and overall just treacherous drive up from Wanaka. We felt like we were on double black diamond runs before we even arrived.

After surviving the ride up, we geared up and took one “Welcome Back” practice run on the bunny hill. I’m very surprised by this fact: it had been FOUR years since the last time Chelsay and I skied (Austria in 2015). That’s the same amount of time it’d been between Innsbruck and the time before (Whistler in 2011). You might remember that we were RUSTY in Innsbruck, with Day 1 highlights including Chelsay being dragged up the bunny hill by the rope pulley as five-year old Austrian children looked on.  Another Innsbruck gem: once on the real slopes, Chelsay and I failed to disembark the gondola on time. As the lift turned away from the dismount area, I leapt off the chair and crash landed on the slope below. I yelled back to Chelsay: “You gotta bail!”, but she refused. She would’ve been content riding the gondola all the way back down, had the large Austrian attendant not forcibly picked her from the chair and set her on the snow.

Luckily we weren’t as rusty in Wanaka. We successfully managed the bunny hill rope-pulley, and dismounted the chair lifts at the appropriate time.

That said, we found a new hiccup this time around.To get to the chair lift, you have to present your lift pass. Treble Cone uses RFID lift passes, so all you do is ski up to the gate, it reads your pass, and you ski through. Think of a toll tag. Not that hard right – you just have to be in control for the gate to read your pass. Well, Chelsay was not in control, and went screaming up to the gate, smashed right through the barrier. I was actually impressive that she kept her balance and skied on, unscathed. The same cannot be said for the broken barrier.

Once at the top of the mountain, the views were breathtaking. Most ski resorts are surrounded by snow-capped peaks – this will always be an incredible sight. But Treble Cone’s views are more diverse: sure, there are snow-capped peaks, but you can also see the stark, undulating landscape surrounding Lake Wanaka. It makes Treble Cone one of the most unique and beautiful ski resort we’ve visited.

The slopes matched the views, with a mix of wide, well-groomed runs where you can get some speed, but also steep & narrow runs that require a bit more technique. As a quick aside, Chelsay’s technique is best described as “clench”. She torched her thighs bracing down the slope, cutting sharply on each turn. It’s so easy to pick her out from the crowd. Rather than slide across the snow, occasionally using friction to slow down, it looked like she was using her skis to carve a path down the mountain.

This was payback for her horse-riding prowess. While she metaphorically “rode a blind horse”, I was bombing blue runs in no time. I brought Chelsay along on one, but she was convinced they were black diamonds. I remember her turning to me and saying in terror, “I shouldn’t be on this one.”  

Chelsay may not be as enthusiastic about skiing, but I love it. I rarely slow down – if you traced our routes, Chelsay’s would look like an ‘S’, but mine would be and “I”. I actually wish I had an Apple Watch to capture my max speed. At the end of each run, my teeth were cold from smiling the whole way down.

By Day 2, I was on some really challenging red runs, battling moguls on steep, ungroomed slopes. Meanwhile, Chelsay was improving too. She’d loosened her “clench” a bit and was getting more and more comfortable at speed. In fact, on our last run of Day 2 (dubbed ‘the poop shoot’ by Chelsay), I secretly led her down a red run. She did great! But also collapsed from exhaustion at the bottom of the run.

Chelsay’s legs were shot for our third and last day of skiing, so we only got half day passes at Cadrona, a less challenging resort than Treble Cone. That said, Cadrona does have a terrain park, so the resort gets a weird mix of graceful Olympians and awkward amateurs. While the pros were busting 1080s in the halfpipe, I saw one guy get run over while waiting for the chair lift. This is how I must’ve looked in Austria.

Like Treble Cone, Cadrona has great views of the surrounding Southern Alps. We managed a few solid morning runs, but decided to save our already worn-out legs for the afternoon’s activity: horse riding.

Although Chelsay & I were barely capable of trotting, we’d heard New Zealand was one of the best places in the world for horse riding. It’s quiet, crisp, and secluded, yet you’re riding through pristine landscapes: glacial rivers, evergreen forests, and mountainous valleys. Its so beautiful that the stable we booked, High Country Horses in Glenorchy, lends their horses to the dozens of movies filmed nearby: Lord of the Rings, X-Men, Vertical Limit, Chronicles of Narnia… Our guide was riding Tom Cruise’s horse in Mission Impossible Fallout.  

The ride itself lived up to its Hollywood billing. First, the setting was cinema worthy. Second, my horse wasn’t blind, so I was able to trot with ease. Third, Chelsay was in heaven. We wrapped up our ride just as the sun fell below the Southern Alps.

It was an eventful day in which we started on the slopes and ended on horseback. Luckily, Chelsay & I were near Taj, the Indian restaurant we’d gone to the last time we were this ravenous in New Zealand. In January, we took Taj to-go after hiking Gertrude Saddle, enjoying the garlic naan, hearty daal, and spicy murg chettinad curry while watching the Hobbit from our warm AirBnB. For Round 2, we ran back the exact same order – it somehow was even better. Its hard for me to admit this because I love Dishoom in London, but Taj is the best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been to.

I just realized that I’ve skipped over the meals in this post, so I want to come back to a couple we really enjoyed. First, at the Cadrona Hotel, Chelsay’s Beef Wellington was her dream savory dish: a juicy steak coated in buttery pastry. She made British Bake Off commentary the whole meal. We also gorged ourselves with a Fergberger lakeside in Queenstown, and enjoyed pumpkin risotto and lamb ragu at our old favorite in Wanaka, Francescas. Finally, even the quick breakfasts we grabbed before skiing were tasty: Chelsay and I would take our chicken & corn pie and bacon & egg sandwich from The Doughbin and eat by Lake Wanaka. Guess who ordered each dish.

Now, a lot of these restaurants were repeats from previous trips: Taj, Cadrona Hotel, Fergberger, Francescas. As I said at the start of the post, New Zealand itself is a repeat for Chelsay and I. But these recurrences are fitting for an anniversary, and I am so thankful to repeat every day, week, month, and year with Chelsay as my wife. 

Much like our trips to New Zealand, each anniversary with her is perfect no matter how many times we repeat.